


At All Fronts

by CaptainTarthister



Series: Working Girl Brienne! [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Absofuckinglutely not, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Assassination Attempt(s), F/M, Flashbacks, Forbidden Love, Modern Westeros, Never drabbles from me ever, Porn with Feelings, Romance, sort of, yes there's smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-05 07:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11573382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: Would a brush with the Stranger give Brienne the courage to accept Jaime's love?





	1. Chapter 1

At All Fronts

Pandemonium erupted in the hospital. Doors flung wide open as paramedics, nurses and doctors and dusty, ragged-looking members of the Queensguard barreled through. Feet stormed the floor toward the emergency room, where more doctors and nurses waited. As soon as the small crowd burst into the room, they sprang into action, transferring the writhing body on to the table.

As they worked to keep the patient alive, there was another wave of pandemonium as another ambulance arrived, with another body. Paramedics  and more members of the Queensguard stormed through the hallway, doctors and nurses jogging at their sides. The second emergency room was ready.

There was blood. A lot of blood. The first patient screamed and thrashed as the bullet was dug out of her. The second was alarmingly quiet, with a heartbeat dangerously slowing down. More screams. Shouts. “Your Grace!” “Clear!” Machines whining. A body thumping on the table.

Dr. Wolkan’s greens were still mapped with blood when he approached the waiting room where the King was waiting. A Kingsguard preceded him, as well as another at his back. The entire wing of the hospital had been cleared except for doctors, nurses and other medical staff that might be needed, Kingsguard and Queensguard, and the military who manned the hallways, the perimeter of the hospital. A nod from the Kingsguard standing in front of Dr. Wolkan and the door was opened, revealing the King, smaller now as he stood hunched and clutching his hands. Beside him, a tall, elegant man turned to look as the door was opened.

“Your Grace, this is Dr. Wolkan. The lead surgeon,” the Kingsguard introduced him.

“Your Grace,” Dr. Wolkan gave a little bow.

Tyrion Lannister, face made uglier by worry and fear, turned to him. His face paled at the blood on his clothes. “My—my wife.”

“The Queen lives, Your Grace.” Dr. Wolkan said. “The bullets missed her heart by millimeters.”

Tyrion took a sharp breath and shared a glance with the other man in the room. The King had clearly not been told of his wife’s injuries.

“Bullets, you say?”

“One on her right clavicle,” Dr. Wolkan tapped his. “And the other here.” Right next to the heart. “She is stable, Your Grace. You may see her now if you wish but only for a few minutes.”

“What about her bodyguard?” The question was asked by other man. Jaime Lannister. The King’s brother.

Dr. Wolkan looked graver. “She flat-lined twice.”

Jaime clenched his fists.

“But she lives. She rests now but you may also see her.”

“Jaime.”Tyrion’s voice broke through his shock at the doctor’s words. _Twice. She flat-lined twice_. “I need her—“he cleared his throat. “I need---I need to see Sansa.”

“Go.” Jaime’s voice was broken glass.

Tyrion gave his brother’s hand a brief squeeze and followed the doctor and his Kingsguard out.

About a minute after Tyrion left, the doors of the waiting room opened. Jaime glanced at the Kingsguard posted outside. “Where is she?” It was clear whom he was asking about.

Jaime knew he should see his goodsister, or at least, wait outside the room for his brother. But he wouldn’t be at peace until seeing with his own eyes that she was alright. Or as alright as she could be.

There was Queensguard outside of her door too. They opened the door for Jaime.

He suddenly paused, suddenly unsure if he was ready for what he might see.

“Sir?”One of the guards asked him, noting the expression on his face.

“I’m alright,” he said and entered the room.

_Father give her strength. Mother protect her. Stranger, you don’t know what I’ll do if you take her._

There was some comfort that even with all those tubes attached to her and her body flat and still on the bed, she still looked strong. Formidable. But he felt himself getting weak as he scanned her injuries.

A long scrape on her right arm.

Peeking from the loose neckline of her gown, a bandage. Jaime knew she had taken a bullet in the chest too.

A cut on her cheek surrounded by a huge, purple bruise.

Then he forced himself to look at it.

Her entire head bound. A bullet to her skull.

_She flat-lined twice._

He had never been so afraid in his entire life. He hesitated for a second before taking her hand. It was limp. But warm. He held it to his cheek, feeling more scrapes there. He kissed her palm, every mark that cut the flesh. There was nothing else to say.

“Brienne,” he whispered, “Come back to me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks of the day before and hours before the shooting at Flea Bottom

**The night before**

            Members of the Kingsguard and Queensguard gathered at precisely one-thirty in the afternoon in the White Sword Tower. Senior members of the elite force were already seated at the round table while the rest sat on chairs against the wall. The Lord Commander, Jorah Mormont, entered the room. Everyone shuffled to their feet, greeting him with, “Sir.”

            “Yes, sit down everyone. We still have a lot to discuss and run through,” he said briskly, nodding in approval at seeing the projector all set up, the perimeter of the Flea Bottom already on the screen.

            Meetings such as this were always tensed. The guards met several times a week to review protocols and assess security measures in the Red Keep and the surrounding area, the men and women to be dispatched for the King and Queen on their travels, for starters. But when at least half of the force were in a room, the tension increased by a hundred-fold.

            Though they knew their job and were well aware that any time they will have to secure it with their lives, there were still assignments they didn’t particularly like. The King and Queen’s visit to Flea Bottom was one of them.

            Brienne could only shake her head staring at the perimeter of the place. Flea Bottom did not only have a high incidence of crime, it was also crammed, the passageways and streets narrow and riddled with potholes. It was difficult to determine proper positions to keep watch over the couple. Though they had a rogues’ gallery of persons of interest in the place, you really could never tell who was in or out of Flea Bottom. Let alone who was going to make it out there unscathed.

            It was precisely for these reasons why the King wanted to go, a desire seconded by the Queen. Tyrion Lannister had his father’s sharp, cunning mind. Tywin Lannister was a cold, feared King but no one could deny that the economy and finances of Westeros had greatly improved under his rule. Tyrion intended to continue that but his platform was on domestic issues. The economy of a country rested on a skilled labor force. Kingsland, the capital, currently had a population of two million. The city was bursting at the seams. At least eight hundred fifty, nearly half of the population, was in poverty and resorting to crime and other illegal means to live. People turned to crime when they had no choice. Tyrion intended to give people choices under his reign. There was a huge labor force that was untapped due to the problem of crime. The first step was getting people off the streets if that’s where they worked, or getting them off their ass if they didn’t. Tyrion was going to do it himself on every individual in Flea Bottom if need be. Sansa was in full support of her husband.

            “Last-minute changes,” Jorah Mormont announced, receiving collective groans and pens being thrown on the table in frustration. “The King and Queen intend to go for a walk in Flea Bottom.”

            “A walk?” Bronn demanded. “Like they’re gonna stroll in the park, sir?”

            Jorah was grim. “Precisely.”

            Brienne spoke up. “I hope you advised the King against it, sir?”

            “I did. But the King wants to take a stroll. Make sure people really see him. It gets worse.”Jorah paused. “They intend to do it for four blocks.”

            This time everyone was murmuring their disapproval. Brienne grunted under her breath and made a quick note in her notebook.

            The meeting went on for five hours. You did not rush through these things. You went over them repeatedly to realize what was missed, how it could be improved. You did not stop until it was clear to everyone. Despite the length of the meeting, there would be another briefing just before they left the Red Keep. Brienne rubbed her eyes.

            After the meeting, there was more to do. Jorah, Brienne and Bronn had to sit down with the King and Queen, separately, about tomorrow. Brienne was the head security detail for Queen Sansa while Bronn was for King Tyrion. But each was present for the separate meeting to know what the other would be doing. The meeting went on for almost an hour.

            Brienne did not go home after the meeting. She went to the firing range to practice. This went on for another hour. Only then did she felt she deserved to go home.

            She lived in a three-story brownstone in Siren’s Alley. It was too big a place for someone who lived alone but after hours of being surrounded and keeping her eyes peeled for danger, she longed for open spaces after work. At six-foot-three, she really did need a lot of space.

            Brienne saw the familiar, silver sheen of a sports car parked across from her apartment. She frowned, shaking her head. She parked behind it, shaking her head once again. The car was not in danger of being stolen unlike in Flea Bottom but fuck, it just called attention to itself. Calling attention to yourself made you a target, among the many unpleasant repercussions.

            She climbed up the steps to her house, keys already out. Another glance at the lighting-silver car then she let herself in.

            The lights were on and she detected the aroma of rich, greasy Mereenese takeout. So in spite of her annoyance at the car, a smile teased from the corners of her lips. She put her coat in the closet and stashed her keys on the table.

            “Are you my girlfriend or a burglar?” A grinning voice called out from behind the wall that led to the kitchen.

            Brienen sorted through her mail. “Not for five minutes.”

            She left the mail fanned across the table and looked up.

            Jaime Lannister leaned his shoulder against the wall, as usual looking way too smug for his own good. His golden hair was a tousled, which mean he had run his hands through it as was his habit when impatient. Emerald eyes regarded her from the top of her blond head, darkening at her full, thick-lipped mouth before lingering on her breasts. Brienne shot him a wary look as he straightened up and went to her. He grinned at the pink spots overtaking her cheeks, the length of her neck.

            “Not for five minutes. Which means I’m about to get a lecture on security,” Jaime drawled, putting an arm around her waist and trying to kiss her. Brienne put a hand on his chest.

            “The silver car, Jaime? Really?” She asked, blue eyes widening with exasperation.

            Jaime took her hand from his chest and started kissing her palm and inner wrist. A shaky breath flitted out of her lips before she could stop it. He smirked and continued brushing his lips on her pale, freckled flesh. She should take her hand away so she could think but it had been such a long day and, much as she hated to admit it, missed him. How her stomach fluttered every time she thought of possibly encountering him while in the Red Keep. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not there. It had been one of her conditions.

            “It was that or the Valyrion,” he answered, putting his other arm around her waist as he released her hand. This time they kissed.

            Brienne sighed and gave herself over to the warm brush of his lips, the feel of his body hard and resolute against her own. He still smelled faintly of cologne and it was enough to make her blood hum and her heart rate to pick up. As his lips moved to her cheek then down the long curve on the side of her neck, she murmured, “We should be more discreet.”

            As she spoke, Jaime pushed her suit jacket off her shoulders and laid it on the table, next to the bills. Then his hands cupped her face, lips kissing every freckle there. Brienne blushed, squeezing her eyes shut because when he touched and kissed her like this, she could believe she was beautiful. It was really silly. Wanted, loved. She should focus on these feelings instead of her looks. They were more important.

            She felt him pulling away and her fingers clutched at his collar. He chuckled, a hand wrapping around hers so he could pull away. There was a slumberous, dark quality in his emerald eyes that made her breathless and tingle all over. She hated how she wanted him. A want that, she was discovering with dread, without end. He pressed a kiss on her knuckles, took her hand and pulled her behind him, towards the couch. He dropped her hand and started unbuttoning his shirt.

            Damn it to Seven Hells. It wasn’t fair. The rakish slash of his blond hair across his forehead. The glimmer in his eyes that told her he too, maybe, wanted her as much. Beautiful, emerald eyes. His smile. Those dimples. And now that body. Seven Hells, that body. Jaime shrugged off his shirt and stood before her, not making any attempt to be subtle in showing off the lean ripples of his arms, the golden curls on his wide chest, narrowing as they approached the trim span of his stomach.

            His smile widened before starting to unzip his pants.

            Brienne put her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow. “Jaime, I’m serious.”

            “I’m serious too,” he drawled, dramatically pulling off his belt so it curved and arced in the air like a snake, but moving only according to his whim. He actually turned around, hips swaying in the exaggerated dance of a stripper as his pants slid down. When he turned around, wearing only his boxer briefs, and the rest of that damned gorgeous body, he crooked a finger at her.

            “I’m serious about being with you. Do you know how hard it is knowing you’re in the vicinity but you won’t let me pop in just to say hello? Now lose the clothes and,” his voice lowered suggestively, “and come here.”

            “We must be careful,” she insisted, flushing when he started walking towards her when it became clear she wasn’t budging. Brienne sighed as Jaime leaned his forehead on hers. She cupped his face gently. “I—I—Jaime. . .”

            He smiled expectantly at her. Brienne swallowed. _Just say the words. Three little words, you idiot. Put him out of his misery. You too._

            As soon as she said them, there would be no turning back.

            This was going to be real.

            Real meaning people would know. The King. The Queen. Her colleagues. Her job.

            Her shoulders sank.

            “I don’t want to lose you, Jaime,” she whispered helplessly.

            If he was disappointed at her words, he didn’t show it. His smile was brighter than ever.

            “I’m not going anywhere.” He held her hands to his face. “You’re stronger and bigger, sure. But I’ll give you a good fight if you try removing me from your life, Tarth.” He kissed her. “I’ll make you bleed.”

            “Punching in kickboxing is very different from real life,” she retorted. “And don’t you forget, Sir Jaime, I was a champion Westerosi sharpshooter before I became Queensguard. I can kick your ass or shoot you.”

            Jaime grinned, dragging one of her hands down to his heart. “Like you haven’t already?”

            “Gods, you’re corny.”

            “Quite alarming our brand of dirty talk,” he mused.

            Brienne laughed. Jaime ran a finger down the row of buttons of her shirt. “Your Prince commands you to get naked, Agent Tarth.”

            “If I may request for the prince to sweeten the offer?”

            Jaime stepped away from her and pushed his boxers down his ankles. Brienne was blushing and grinning as he stood proud and naked before her. He was just. . .perfect. Really perfect. With a smug expression on his face, he dangled his boxers on a finger and held it out to her. “My humble offering, milady.”

            “Get your smelly boxers off my face, Jaime.” She said, laughing. But he tossed it toward her anyway, just narrowly missing her face. Then he lowered himself on the couch in an elegant sprawl, turning on his side, chin propped on a fist, one long leg bent.

            “If you could hurry things along, milady.” He urged her, his hand grasping his cock.

            Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, the snaps and zipper of her pants. She removed her flats. When she turned around, he was sitting up, eyes were half-shut as he stared at her, his fist sliding up and down his cock. So beautiful. Half a god even in this state. _Especially in this state._

            She got down on her knees, making a motion of putting her hands together as if to pray only for them to hold his cock, fondle his heavy balls. She opened her mouth to enclose the leaking head, the first step in her worship. Her deep devotion was in the slow slide of her mouth up and down his cock. He tasted good. Warm and male. Jaime. Her eyes were soft, her wet kisses that of adoration. Jaime groaned and buried his fingers in her hair, softly chanting her name.

            “Brienne,” he grunted, hips thrusting toward her lips. “I want---let me kiss you.”

            She couldn’t help teasing him. “As my prince desires.”

            He smirked and pulled her up. Brienne spread her legs over his thighs, closing her eyes at the sensation of his golden hairs tickling the more sensitive, inner skin. Hand around her nape, he pulled her down until their lips met. He gently nibbled on her swollen lower lip, raking his teeth across it before soothing the soft tissue with his tongue. She leaned fully against him, the hard wall of his chest roughened by hairs scraping and tugging at her nipples. “Jaime,” she moaned against his tongue, clutching at his shoulders.

            He helped her rise on her knees, putting her tits at the level of his mouth. He claimed a nipple with his lips, the other with fingers. As he alternated between laving at her nipples and pinching them, she rained kisses on his hair, his forehead, held tight. She lost herself to the pull of his kisses, the delicious roughness of his fingers. He had to guide her down to his cock because she was a mess of loose limbs and a head fevered with want and lust. A filthy sigh slid from her lips as his cock spread the soaked flesh of her cunt wide. Wider. His balls smooshed under the lower lips of her pussy. She sobbed as he resumed sucking on her nipples. Swallowed her cries as he tugged the red aching tips between fingers. 

            She braced her hands on the couch as he brought her up and down his cock, up and down, up and down. The motions were like a rough, bouncy ride on a rough road, or turbulent seas with waves rising to swallow you. They looked in each other’s eyes, kissing every now and then. Then Jaime, his face tight, decided it was time to steer her home.

            Brienne wailed, her nails digging in the fabric of the couch as his finger easily plunged past her thick curls, finding the stiff button of her nub. He flicked it, stroked it, roughly, to the point of pain. As her cries grew louder and more frequent, his touches sped up, bodies smacking loudly at every hungry grinding of their hips.

            A dirty, loud groan fell from her lips as she came, her spine stiffening momentarily. As her cunt squeezed his cock as if to trap it inside forever, her head fell back, thrusting her breasts to his face. Jaime pulled a pink nipple deep in his mouth, sucking hungrily as his cock surrendered to the grip of her pussy. He growled, his spine collapsing against the couch. Brienne, still in the throes of her release, let him guide her hips up and down his cock some more, his come flooding her passage until he sighed and pulled her to his chest.

            The quiet that fell on them after another earth-shattering fuck had become one of the moments of joy Brienne never expected. It was the perfect time to tell him. Hells, they both had morning breath and still smelled of sex when Jaime told her. Yet the ordinariness of when he told her, and how, as if they were just in the middle of a conversation and she hadn’t woken up to find watching her with that smile, was what made it extraordinary. And it was.

            But she was afraid. She could face an army alone, probably, but not be as afraid at what her telling him of those words would bring.

            This time, bathed in each other’s sweat and in the afterglow—she must. She must. But there it was again, that fear: everything would become real.

            Brienne held tightly to Jaime, hoping that it was enough, for now, to convey what was in her heart.

 

**The next day**  
**Flea Bottom Visit**

            At five a.m., Brienne left Jaime sleeping in her bed. She kissed him on the cheek and quietly got dressed. The gym at the Red Keep would still be empty, except for a few early risers like herself. This was where she went first, running for thirty minutes on the treadmill before hitting the shower. Breakfast was a granola bar stashed in her bag and coffee from the machine. There was a final briefing before the visit to the Red Keep. She was in the conference room ten minutes before it began.

            An advance party would be sent to monitor the Red Keep and keep the routes the couple would be taking safe and secure. Jorah Mormont was tensed although he had been on the job for twenty years already. No one day was every the same in the life of a Kingsguard or Queensguard. After the briefing, Brienne went to her post, outside the Queen Sansa’s chambers, relieving the Queensguard from last night’s duty.

            At exactly seven o’ clock, Margaery Tyrell, the Queen’s dresser, and Alys Karstark, her chief of staff, arrived. Margaery, slim with soft brown hair with honey highlights, was as usual impeccable. Her hair was pulled back in an efficient but stylish chignon. Her makeup looked natural, meaning she must have been up at the crack of dawn making it so. She wore a black wrap dress and black stilettos. Alys, short and skinny, was in a gray pantsuit. Her red hair was long and in need of a trim but she was pretty enough. Brienne liked her although Margaery was not abhorrent. Margaery was the sort to correct your posture before letting you have soup. Alys clearly cared more about doing her job right than looking sexy.

            Brienne checked their IDs before letting them in. Ten minutes later, Alys opened the door and looked up at Brienne. “Um, Brienne, would you mind stepping in for a minute? We have an issue that could use an outside opinion.”

            “Of course,” Brienne said.

            In the receiving area of the queen’s chambers, Sansa was wearing a lovely white suit that fit close to her body, showing off her womanly curves but without revealing anything except for her long, slim legs. Sansa and Margaery looked in the direction of Alys and Brienne.

            “You need assistance, Ma’am?” Brienne asked.

            “I’ve been telling Margaery that a white suit and heels are not proper for a visit to Flea Bottom. It’s basically a call to be muddied up.” Sansa said, shaking her head. “I would prefer a pantsuit with sensible heels but I’m outnumbered here. What do you think?”

            Oh. So she was here for fashion advice. Blushing, Brienne said, “Um, I don’t believe I’m the proper person to ask—“

            After all, her standard everyday outfit was discreet black pantsuit, white blouse and black flats.

            “If you say so, Brienne.” Sansa said, smiling at her. “But I would love to hear it, nevertheless.”

            “A pantsuit may be best so you may move easier. It’s also more comfortable. As for the shoes—“

            But Sansa was already stepping out of the needle-thin stilettos, grunting as her stocking feet settled on the carpet. Then she left the three women, going to the inner quarters. Margaery shot Brienne an exasperated look. “What was wrong with the suit?”

            “It was white and tight. And it’s hot.”

            “It was beautiful.”

            “And impractical.”

            “Margaery,” Sansa called out. “Come here, please.”

            Brienne turned to Alys. “I should return to my post.”

            Alys nodded. “Of course. Thanks, Brienne. I wanted to advice the Queen against the suit

but you know how pushy Margaery can be.”

            “Glad to be of help.”

            Brienne had only been back to her post for three minutes when she was told over the radio that the King and his men were on the way to visit the Queen. She knocked on the door to alert Alys.

            Tyrion Lannister was not anyone’s idea for a king. He was a dwarf, with pale hair and light green eyes instead of brilliant emeralds like Jaime’s. Jaime was the firstborn and by law, should be king. Tywin, the Seven Bless his soul, had declared more than once that Jaime was going to be his heir.

            Jaime had no desire to rule. Less than a day after Tywin was laid to rest, the brothers proposed an election within the Council of Lords. Tywin may be dead but his word with regard to who would sit on the throne next was still law. Jaime, though popular and well-liked, had never exhibited the kind of cunning needed to rule. Oh, he was clearly intelligent, not to mention handsome, single, and was a double major in Political Science and Economics before becoming a lawyer—truly a prince and the perfect would-be king. But as political analysts have been hammering on the pages for a while, Jaime Lannister was too reckless and cavalier to be king, though his intentions were good. Tyrion was analytical, firm, with a talent for balancing diplomacy with just the right amount of menace that was reminiscent of Tywin. He was a lawyer like Jaime but somehow ended up becoming an economic analyst. With his expertise and experience in promulgating the laws of the land as well as keeping the population fed, it did not matter that he looked more monstrous than dreamy. He had the head and willingness to rule. Only the Council of Lords could overturn Tywin’s will. The outcome was exactly what the brothers hoped for.

            Tyrion was only a little over four feet tall but he strode with the confidence and arrogance that reminded Brienne of Jaime. Her face was warm when he smiled at her. “Good morning, Brienne. Is my wife ready? I wish to speak to her for a few minutes.” He was flanked by his Kingsguard, led by Bronn and Podrick Payne.

            “She expects you, sir,” Brienne said, opening the door.

            Margaery and Alys stepped out of the room, nodding at Brienne and the others. Bronn, standing next to Brienne, suddenly said, “You think they’re fucking?”

            Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. “Who?”As he grinned, she hissed, “You speak of the King and Queen, Agent Blackwater.”

            “They’re fucking, I’m sure of it,”Bronn continued, grinning.

            “You let him talk about the Their Graces like this?”Brienne demanded accusingly at Podrick.

            Podrick stammered, “I-I try, Agent Tarth, but---“

            “Nah, don’t piss on the boy, Agent Tarth. I’m merely commenting. After all they’re off to Flea Bottom. Not exactly the beach with margaritas. Who wouldn’t want to fuck before going to a shithole? They have to be happy, you know. Get in the mood.”

            Brienne, whose face was burning, grunted, “I refuse to listen any more to this.”

            When Tyrion and Sansa stepped out, they wore big smiles. They were both dressed in deep navy blue. Sansa had discarded the jacket for her suit, wearing only the vest top and the trousers.

            They left the Red Keep at precisely eight a.m. In the limo went Tyrion and Sansa, along with their guards, Brienne, Bronn, Podrick and Edd Tollett. Behind the wheel was Jon Snow. They were preceded by two limousines in front and another two at the back, serving as decoys.

            Tyrion looked at Bronn and Brienne. “Don’t you think that’s excessive? Flea Bottom is only fifteen minutes away. And how are you going to fit them there?”

            “Security protocol doesn’t change, sir,” Bronn answered. “And we find ways.”

            “With that much metal surrounding us, we should be able to stay longer,” Sansa pointed out.

            “Make it work, Bronn,” Tyrion said as the car began to slow down.

            Brienne tapped her earpiece, listening to the instruction there before nodding. She reached out to unlock the door.

            She stepped out first, then Bronn on one side, Podrick and Edd on the other. She tried not to wrinkle her nose and she refused to look down on the ground for what she might find there. Brienne’s eyes were alert, scanning the cheering crowds, the surrounding buildings. They had decreed that all buildings within a three-mile radius be emptied in the upper floors. Snipers stood on standby for additional security.

            “Tyrion, we should say hello to the crowd before going inside the orphanage,” Sansa told Tyrion amidst the cheers.

            Brienne, overhearing, swiftly said. “Your Grace, I strongly advise—“

            “Oh, Agent Tarth,”Tyrion chided her. “Remind me to tell my brother to take you on a relaxing vacation soon. We’ll just be saying hello. What do you think will happen?”

            Brienne had no idea her mouth was hanging open until Bronn politely told her that flies would be swarming in. Her face was red as she quickly preceded the couple. Jorah Mormont’s voice filled her earpiece.

            “What are you doing?”

            “The Lion and the Wolf wish to greet the crowd,”Brienne answered, her broad firm shielding and preventing Sansa from getting any closer.

            “Seven Hells. Steer them away.”

            “Right away.”

            Brienne had done this a dozen times since Tyrion and Sansa became King and Queen of Westeros. She only had to slyly put herself between them and the crowd. Bronn was already doing it, firmly telling the couple that they should go to the orphanage now. Brienne was about to second him when she a soft, popping sound hit the air.

            There was much cheering and shouting. Flea Bottom smelled like the muck of Seven Hells, if not it was actually the muck of Seven Hells. The day was hot. The confined space was not helping. But her years as a sharpshooter with the national team, having been surrounded and hearing gunshots her whole life, knowing the feel of a gun better than her own skin, had alerted her just to the kind of sound it was.

            She turned around and something like a brand went through her head, above her left eyebrow. Then it was like she was drowning in lava.

            _She had been shot._

            Sansa screamed.

            Another. Brienne managed throw herself in front Sansa just as another bullet ripped in the air, through her skin and into another. 

            More screams. Then the storm of Kingsguards and Queensguards. One of them caught Brienne by the shoulders. Jon Snow. His lips were moving but Brienne couldn’t understand what he was saying.

            Just before Brienne fell to the ground, she saw Podrick pick up Tyrion right from the ground. Edd and Bronn were lifting Sansa. There was blood on the ground. The Queen’s.

            _Mine._

As the world turned dark, Brienne’s last thoughts were on two things.

            She had failed the Queen.

            _I’m so sorry, Jaime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re still here.”

Jaime, who was sitting leaning against a wall, turned a bleary gaze towards Tyrion. Tyrion stood at the door, looking like he had aged ten years. His shirt was rumpled and his tie loosened. He was still wearing the same clothes from Flea Bottom, Jaime realized as he sat up. He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes, blinking several times to chase away the puffiness and the clouds that marked everything he looked at. He glanced at Brienne’s sleeping form on the bed before turning to Tyrion again.

“So are you, little brother.”

Tyrion, putting his hands in his pockets, went to Brienne. Jaime stood up, giving himself into the treat of a much-needed stretch. He watched Tyrion rest a hand on Brienne’s.

“I refuse to leave my wife,” Tyrion answered. “But I can’t leave Westeros politics. So the hospital has become my temporary headquarters.” He squeezed Brienne’s hand. “I wouldn’t have any sense of. . .duty. . .of responsibility if not for what Agent Tarth did.”

Jaime had peeked in on Sansa only once. Aside from her bullet wounds, she had dislocated her shoulder from the fall, or probably when one of the guards pulled her first by the arm during the chaos of the shooting. Since then, he had been sentry by Brienne’s side.

“When did the doctors say she’ll wake up?” Tyrion asked Jaime.

“They don’t know.” Jaime answered, clearing his throat. He stared at the monitor that showed the jagged lines of her heartbeat. “Just as long as she’s stable.”

Stable. What did it mean, exactly? Brain waves. A heart that beat. Jaime was too scared and too tired to rant at the doctors that it wasn’t enough. Brienne was more than brain waves and a beating heart. She was. . .his heart lurched at the realization. Everything. More than sapphire eyes, horsey teeth and sweet smiles, freckles and strength, bravery—he took a deep breath, not wanting to fall apart in front of his brother.

Brienne conscious and awake. He will take that for now. Open eyes, on him, awesome, unbelievable blues glittering with amusement. The warm gust of her breath against his lips just before they kissed. Her laugh. Loud and throaty, surprising for the oft-stoic Queensguard. Stable? He needed her _alive._

 “Who was behind it?’ Jaime asked as Tyrion went to sit on the chair he had just vacated. “Do you know? Why?”

Tyrion shook his head slowly. His sinking shoulders made him smaller. Jaime hated seeing him this way.

“We have a better shot at finding out who than why,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck to why, Jaime. I just want whoever did this to hurt like they’ve been hurt. Like you and I are hurt.” His eyes were dangerously watery. He had no problem revealing how defeated he felt right now.“It should have been me. Not my wife.”

“Don’t say that. Sansa would hate if it that’s what happened.”

“As long as she’s unhurt.” Tyrion glanced at Brienne again. “Better her than me.”

Jaime understood.

They talked in soft voices for a while. He knew that Tyrion was there to comfort him but also to save himself from going insane waiting for his wife to wake. Sansa did not have as serious a condition as Brienne but she wasn’t entirely out of the woods.

Jaime walked Tyrion out of the room. He did not want to leave Brienne but he needed some air, needed to stretch his legs. Security nodded at them, murmuring polite greetings. They parted at the end of the hall. Jaime squeezed Tyrion’s hand and watched him shuffle away, once again surrounded by his guards.

His eyes were beginning to get heavy but he had already slept. He refused to rest without hearing from Brienne first. A jolt of caffeine. Something sweet, maybe. He needed it. He looked around and it got the attention of one of the guards keeping a discreet distance.

“Is there anything you wish for, sir?”

Brienne awake. Jaime almost said. Instead, he said, “Is there a vending machine in here?”

“Yes. What can I get you?”

He shook his head. “There’s no need. I can do it myself. Point me in the direction?”

As the guard directed him, Jaime remembered that it was a wrong turn that brought him right to Brienne. A wrong turn and a failure to read.

 

****

 

Back at the Red Keep was a state-of-the-art gym for the family to use. But for one month, due to renovations needed to accommodate Tywin’s hip therapy, it had been off-limits. Temporary gym accommodations were moved to the south wing, close to the quarters of the guards. This was where Jaime went.

He exercised for an hour. When it was over his t-shirt clung like second skin and he needed a serious cooldown. The original gym led right to the shower stalls. He assumed this would still be the arrangement. As he walked down a hallway, with his gym bag over his shoulder, he noticed the more modest gym accommodations for the guards. The equipment was up-to-date, of course but the space was smaller and the surroundings austere. It wasn’t like his gym with color-coordinated equipment and the signature crimson and gold colors of his House.

He located a hall of lockers and he stashed his things there, taking out only his towel and soap. He heard someone turn on the shower followed by the gush of water. He smirked, wondering who would be in a more awkward position—him, a prince or a guard. Being naked evened out a lot of things. Well, maybe. He was still grinning as he hit the stalls.

There were no doors separating the showers from each other, of course. So he had a clear view of the person showering. The person stood with his back to Jaime at first, and he found himself envious over the other guy’s hard and defined thigh muscles and long legs. Then the guy turned and  he got the shock of his life.

It was a woman.

Her eyes were closed as she vigorously shampooed, streams and puddles of soap and water trailing down her wide chest. Her tits were small. But her nipples. Fuck. So pink. He licked his lips at the sight of the peaked, long tips. At her abs. _Wow._ Her waist did not curve as expected in a woman but her hips were wide. And between those hips was the thickest clump of bush, dark and dripping. Jaime, for all his exhaustion from his exercise, felt his cock stir in his shorts.

He must have made a sound because the woman’s eyes suddenly opened. Fuck but they were the clearest, brightest blue he had ever seen. Her eyes widened in shock before an outraged squawk spilled from her lips.

“What are you—get out of here!” She shouted.

“Why? This is the men’s shower!” Jaime shot back.

“You idiot! Didn’t you see the sign on the door? Get out of here if you don’t want me to kill you!”

Jaime frowned and turned. Holy shit. The door was open so he didn’t notice the sign there. As he stammered to apologize, the woman growled again, “Out, you pervert! Out!”

He was too slow for her because she _charged_ toward him. First, Jaime was impressed at her anger and how red she was. Those amazing eyes were vivid blue storms. He started backing away, apologizing still. She continued moving and it was clear _she was going to murder him._

Second thing, he was still getting hard.

He could not turn away from those eyes and the sight of her wet pussy was forever burned in his memory. The woman, because her feet were wet, suddenly slipped. With a shriek, she fell hard on the floor, legs flying in the air, pussy lips parting to reveal an inviting sliver of pink flesh.

She was Brienne Tarth, he found out later while waiting for her outside of the in-house clinic of the Red Keep. Newly-assigned to Queen Sansa. Jaime looked her up online and whistled at her credentials. She was a champion sharpshooter for five years running, graduated cum laude from University of Westeros with a degree in Essosi Languages. She was fluent in six languages.

He put his phone away as the door opened. Brienne stood there, surly and ugly except for her gorgeous blue eyes. Her face was still red. In a sweatshirt and shorts, she looked very much like a man. Well, not to him. Her blue sweatshirt, shapeless as it was, emphasized her pretty eyes.

“I would like to apologize,” Jaime told her before she could speak. “It was an honest mistake on my part and I really regret the injury it has caused you, Miss Tarth.”

“Brienne would do,” was her curt reply. “You need not inconvenience yourself, Your Grace.”

Something about her too polite tone told him she was being sarcastic. Jaime kept his face bland.

“Hardly an inconvenience, milady,” he said, fighting the urge to smirk as she glared at him. “If you would allow me to make it up to you?”

“Like I said, there is no need.”

“You would deny your prince?”

Her cheeks bloomed a richer crimson. _Lannister red,_ he thought appreciatively. “I’m alright. A slight concussion, that’s all.” She answered with a shrug. “You have princely duties. A ribbon to cut. Flowers to present. Surely you have better things to do. You have brought me here to be examined and stayed. That is more than enough.”

He had to raise an eyebrow. _Ah. So that’s what she thinks of me._ “I guess I shall command you then.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Jaime put on the smile that one gossip magazine declared could disintegrate ladies’ undergarments.

He wondered if Miss Tarth wore panties under those shorts. He had thrown his towel over her unconscious body while hollering for help.

“I am personally inviting you to join me for supper tonight.” He said. “Wear something blue, Miss Tarth. It’s a color most becoming on you.”

 

*******

White was definitely not Brienne’s color. It washed her out. Made her look paler than she already was. Jaime brushed his knuckles on her cheek, missing the spatter of freckles there but relieved to find it warm, at least.

His fingers were shaking as he gently nudged the loose neckline of her gown down. The bandage hid her wound but he knew, he could easily see how the bullet sped through the jacket of her flesh. It exited the back of her right shoulder and went on to dig into Sansa’s clavicle.

It used to be just a joke between them. “Stay alive, my love,” he would tell her before they parted ways. It was thrilling how Brienne blushed at those words, stammering, “As you decreed, Your Grace.” They didn’t do that this. . .yesterday morning. It was ten minutes past midnight already.

Jaime didn’t believe in signs or omens, in rituals to keep luck. He did not believe that there was a rationale behind events. Things either happened or didn’t.

But since hearing about Brienne, he had been forced to keep quiet on the question burning in his throat: Why?

What had she done to deserve this?

She was a beacon of good. Put her heart in everything. Everything. She protected people with her life, for crying out loud. She never deserved pain.

Jaime slipped his fingers between hers as he sat down. After glugging two cans of soda, he was more alert but felt like he was walking on a tightrope. He managed to grab some sleep but it was restless, his mind too wired and the rest of him anxious.

He was tracing one of the scrapes on her palms when he heard it. Tensing, he sat up on his chair and stared at Brienne. She was still. He glanced at the monitors that displayed her vitals. They made no sense but there didn’t appear to be any change. Gods, he must be exhausted.

_No. Not until she wakes. She has to know I’m here._

There it was again. A weak gurgling. Almost a whispered grunt.

Jaime held his breath. “Brienne?”

It was the most remarkable thing at this moment. The unmistakable flutter of her eyelashes. Her head slowly moving from side to side. Her limbs listless. He almost sagged in relief so he kissed her palm soundly. “Baby, I’m here.”

Her eyes remained closed, though. But she sighed and murmured, “Jaime.”

“Yes.” Gods. He was going to cry. “Yes, baby. I’m here.”

Brienne’s eyes opened. _There she is._ Jaime clutched her hand to his lips. “Brienne?”

She stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. Her pale eyebrows nearly met as she frowned. She closed her eyes again then opened them. Her frown deepened.

“Baby. . .”

She turned and looked at him. Jaime had to smile. She was glaring at him. It made her look uglier but he loved her so much more.

“Hey there.”

“Jaime?” Her voice was scratchy but clearer. “You’re here, right? I’m not dreaming?”

“No. If you are, we’d be doing something a lot more naughty.” He was so happy that he had to resist kissing her. He settled for squeezing her hand. She squeezed back and continued to look around her, moving her head carefully.

His elation at her being awake came to a stop as Brienne continued to frown and squint, glaring at her surroundings. He felt her shudder.

“What is it?”

“Jaime.”Brienne bit her chapped lip. Her chin wobbled. “I—I can’t. . .I can’t see.”


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More flashbacks. 
> 
> Just a note: I'm not a doctor nor an expert of any kind in medicine. I did some research but that's it. As such, it's going to take some massive suspension of disbelief to go with what's going to happen in this story. Also this is fiction. Things are never accurate in fiction. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this latest update.

Brienne’s head hurt.

It was unbelievable. She felt bruised everywhere. Could still remember how the bullets hit her. She was fucking _blind._ Apparently the Seven deemed she could use some more pain.

She blinked rapidly, forcing herself to focus on the monotonous drone of the words by the doctors. There were distinctions. There was a doctor. There was a specialist. A couple of them. Maybe. She counted at least four different voices, all of them trying to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. She could make out shapes and colors? That was a good thing.

She knew Jaime was beside her. He had taken a shower, judging from the faint scent of shampoo and soap from his skin. She wanted to look at him. It hurt not being able to see him. She could see the blurry outline of his golden hair and when he faced her, she detected the bright green color of his eyes. But that was it.

After she woke up from her surgery long enough to realize she was blind, she fell asleep again. She wouldn’t wake up until three days later. It had been torture. She remembered everything—the crowds, the popping sound that came out of nowhere. Sansa’s scream. Screams. Bodies running. Waking up and seeing only flashes of light and splotches of color. It had to be a bad dream, a bad dream. She repeated it over and over in her head for three days.

“---physical, occupational and speech therapy. . .” one of the doctors were saying. Whisper-soft, gravely voice. With a reverent undertone that was more creepy than reassuring. Qyburn. That was his name.

“What?”Brienne demanded. The room plunged into a silence broken only by the beeping of the monitors around her. Jaime, who was holding her hand, tensed beside her.

“You can hear her speaking clearly and in complete sentences,” it was Jaime who spoke up. He sounded annoyed. “And she’s sitting up on her own. She can move her arms and legs upon command and on her own. Why does she need physical and speech therapy?”

“We just want to make sure everything is covered, Your Grace.” A different voice. Older. Raspier. Brienne turned in the direction of his voice and saw a blot of white. Hair and beard?  Along with the coat. Everyone was a blur of white with blotches of either gray or dark. “Agent Tarth will need the best care.”

“And she’s getting it.” Jaime sounded more cross.

“Of course, she is.” Dr. Wolkan replied. Now this was a voice Brienne knew well. He sounded like a nice man. Patient. He spoke to her like she was still normal. “Agent Tarth has made it quite clear she intends to return to her job as soon as possible.”

Gods, if she still had a job. She had yet to hear of Queensguards returning to the job after taking a bullet to the head.

“We will concentrate on helping Agent Tarth recover her tip-top physical condtion,”Dr. Wolkan continued. “And then. . .more therapy.”

“Just tell me.” Now Brienne was impatient. “How long exactly will I be in therapy?”

“It really depends—“

“Dr. Wolkan.” Brienne looked at him as if she could see him. “I really need specifics. All I’ve heard so far are general bullshit statements that tell me nothing. ‘Temporary blindness.’ ‘For as long as it takes.’ I function on knowing specifics. I have to. If you’re going to give me another generic non-answer I swear to the Seven I intend to will myself to an aneurysm.”

Jaime was stroking her palm but she knew he had gotten tensed again. Brienne huffed and pulled her hand away.

“Well?”

“A year, Agent Tarth.”Dr. Wolkan cleared his throat. “At least.”

After the doctors left, Brienne and Jaime were left alone. She could sense him looking at her.

She wanted to look at him too but she hated that even if she couldn’t see him, she knew the expression he was wearing. Pity. _He thinks because I’m blind I won’t know._

“What do you need?” He asked.

“You can quit asking me that,” she snapped.

She knew he flinched. Her cheeks burned.

“I’m sorry,”she said quickly. “But ever since. . .that’s the first thing you tell me. And you tell me too many times in a day. It’s driving me insane.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she growled in frustration. “It’s just. . .stop treating me like I’m a fucking patient, damn it. You said you loved me. I’m not feeling it.”

“Love.” This time it was Jaime who snapped at her. “I love you.”

Brienne approximated where her hands could be. She only felt them resting on her lap. The sheet rustled as Jaime got to his feet and shuffled away from her.

“I understand that this. . .it’s difficult. I don’t know how difficult it is but don’t. . .don’t double how I feel about you, Brienne.”

“Didn’t you hear? They don’t know how long I’ll be like this!” She looked up, head swiveling for where he might be. Then she felt his hand on her cheek, stilling her. There. Golden halo. Flecks of green. She struggled from nuzzling against his palms, turning her head to press a kiss.

“It’s only temporary.”

“Dr. Wolkan said I’ll be in therapy for a year. At least! Not my blindness. Who knows how long this is going to be.”

“What if it’s not temporary, Jaime?” She whispered, desperate to see him. Then she would know.

His hands on her face tightened. “Is this your fucking roundabout way of asking if I’ll still love you if you’re blind forever?”

He sounded hurt and angry. But Brienne will not apologize.

Jaime dropped his hands from her face. She heard him leave. “J-Jaime?”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Brienne.”

 

****  


For two days Jaime didn’t visit her. Two days. Brienne hated him but hated herself more.

She refused pity and any form of charity. An only child with an absent-minded father who would rather read and decipher ancient language texts meant she pretty much grew up on her own. Selwyn Tarth was kind in his own way but there were times when she was growing up when he would look at her with puzzlement. It was momentary but she saw the doubt and confusion in his blue eyes before they cleared and he smiled shakily. It might be funny to forget that he had a daughter since Brienne had always been tall and surely not something to be missed. But it hurt. It hurt more than she was willing to admit.

Selwyn left her on her own more often than what was probably legally possible. Brienne had no concept of curfew or of being grounded, found it unusual when her friends had to fight their parents for permission to go to a rock concert while Selwyn just nodded and hummed absently. It made Brienne an oddity—more than she already was with her coarse features and mannish, very tall form. It seemed the world had put her in it precisely to make sure she would always be alone. So when her friends turned against her for having an oddball parent, she sought activities that didn’t require any company.

So, like her father, she began to pore over books. From them she discovered hunting and the kind of rifles used for it. When Selwyn realized that his daughter might be a budding scholar like him, he gave her more attention. Brienne had little patience with translating texts but by the time she began college, she was fluent in High Valyrian, Dothraki and Qarth, thanks to Selwyn. She learned Lhazar, Asshai’i and Summer Tongue. Languages were easy for her so she majored in Language and Literature of Essos. She also tried out for the rifle pistol team in college and was offered a spot. With her talent, she was next ushered into the national team.

The team gave her friends but like her, they were used to keeping to themselves so they never got really close. Brienne learned to appreciate and enjoy her own company. People drove her nuts because she had to compromise and negotiate. With just herself, that didn’t happen a lot. And it was better. In spite of her success and skill with the gun, people still poked fun at her ugly looks, her freckles, at her too-tall, mannish form. They just proved that her own company was far more preferable and she was mad to seek otherwise. Just fucking mad.

But life intervened.

Oberyn Martell was a fencer from the independent state of Dorne. He was everything that Brienne was not, had everything that she did not have. He was charming and friendly, drew people around him like magnet. He was more confident than handsome, with thick, wavy black hair, round black eyes and a beautiful, smooth olive complexion.

When Oberyn came into her life, Brienne had just lost Selwyn. She thought that being mostly alone her whole life would protect her from the brutal truth that with her father gone, she was truly alone in the world. The realization was devastating.

Word got around about Selwyn’s passing. Token condolences were uttered by her college and national teams, and the athletic contingent of Westeros. Brienne had met Oberyn before because her team once traveled with his. He was friendly with her as he was with everyone so she thought nothing of him.

She had probably even forgotten about him until he paid her a visit at her college dorm.

 

*****

“My sister Elia died last year,” Oberyn was saying as they took a walk in the streets of Oldtown after dinner. “We were close.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Brienne said sincerely. “What happened? Is it okay to ask that?”

Oberyn nodded and gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “I can talk about her now. It’s still difficult. It’s easier and harder at the same time. Does that make sense?”

Brienne thought about it. No one had really asked about her father. His friends were few and they had no other relatives. So she wasn’t talking about him, until now.

“I don’t know.” Was her honest answer.

But Oberyn nodded. “It’s the only way to describe it.” He paused and said, “Elia was an avid mountain climber. She loved scaling cliffs, rock formations. Anything. During a climb, she lost her hold and fell.”

“Oh my gods. I’m so sorry.” Brienne was horrified. She was thankful Selwyn’s passion was books and not extreme sports. She had no idea how she would be if her last vision of him was as a broken body.

“She was young. Only twenty-five.”

“It’s really tragic. I’m so sorry.”

Oberyn took her hand. Brienne stared at it.

She realized it wasn’t so bad to have someone hold her hand through her grief. She needed a way out of this darkness.

 

*****

They were together for two years. Two wonderful years. She became a regular visitor to Dorne. There, they would go camping in the dessert. It was three beautiful days of just being with the elements and each other. At night, with the stars as their roof, they pretended to be the only two people in the world.

Brienne lay on her sleeping bag, eyes sleepy but open as she stared at the stars. How could there be a more perfect moment than this, she wondered, closing her eyes in contentment as Oberyn’s lips brushed up and down her legs. Her eyes still closed, she threaded her fingers through his thick, soft hair, spreading her legs wider to receive his kiss.

Oberyn pried the lips of her pussy open, a tongue sliding up and down the sensitive pink line next to her clit. Brienne moaned, writhing sensuously as his tongue laved the pinkness around her clit, priming it to a delicious, painful stiffness. He bestowed kiss upon kiss on her heated, moist flesh, kissing and touching her everywhere except her clit. Brienne couldn’t beg because she was robbed of words. She let her body do the talking, hips thrusting, fingers tugging. When Oberyn finally wrapped his lips around her clit, she was quick to splinter. It was long night of kisses and burrowing deep in the flesh. At one point Brienne ended up on her hands and knees, her swollen nipples rubbing against the the zipper of the sleeping bag as Oberyn fucked her from behind. 

Dazed blue eyes stared at Oberyn a while later as he stretched out beside her and drew the blanket over them. Brienne cuddled against him, for the first time in her life feeling that she belonged. She was home.

“I love you,” she whispered. But there was no wind to cloak her voice. It may very well be the only words in existence, in their world of stars, sand and skin.

Oberyn smiled at her. “I love you too.”

 

******  


He saw her off at the airport. They would be apart again, but only for a few weeks. Brienne’s graduation was soon and he was going to be there for that. Then she would concentrate on her career with the national team.

As they kissed, Oberyn whispered that he had something to ask her.

“Sure.” She said.

He got down on one knee. Brienne’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

“I was thinking to tie my shoelace but I figured that while I’m down on one knee, I should ask you anyway,”Oberyn answered, grinning up at her. Brienne’s hands flew to her mouth as he reached in his pocket and revealed a black velvet box. Her cheeks pinked. Around them, people turned their heads to watch.

“Will you marry me, Brienne?”

Tears spilled from her eyes. “Yes. Yes.”

Cheers erupted from the onlookers as Oberyn swept her in his arms.

 

********

The wedding would be a month after her graduation. Neither wanted to wait. Oberyn had retired from the fencing team and just wanted to go wherever his fiancée would go. Brienne was ranked number three in her sport and hoped to make it to number one by next year. What better inspiration than being with the man you loved?

It was going to be a small wedding in Dorne with Oberyn’s family and their small group of friends. Brienne breezed through the rest of her school requirements with wings in her heart. She was the happiest she had ever been.

Two days before graduation, she got a call from Doran, Oberyn’s brother. He was normally friendly and very chatty. Brienne, who was packing up the last of her things, sat down on her stripped bed and put her phone next to her ear. “You’re awfully quiet. What has Oberyn done now?”

“Brienne, I don’t know how else to say this.” Doran sounded far away.

“What?”

 

******

Brienne never made it to her graduation ceremony. She was at Dorne, dully watching as earth was thrown over Oberyn’s coffin. He had gone riding in the desert when a sandstorm hit. Maybe the horse had gotten spooked and thrown him off the saddle. Oberyn had been missing for only a day.

The life she was building was over. Gone was the love of her life. What was she going to do with the lease in the apartment they had paid for? What was she going to do about her dress? The ring—she tried returning it but Doran refused, telling her gently that Oberyn would want her to have it. Something to remember him by. But that was just it. Brienne was never going to forget Oberyn. He was her light in the darkness. The person who helped her belong and opened her heart. Where was she to go? What was she to do?

A broken heart was debilitating. But Brienne ran away from it. Her life centered on the shooting range, her gun. It wasn’t the wisest thing to be near a firearm in her state but she had learned to compartmentalize her emotions. She knew when to focus on the target and when to let the tears fall.

She collected medals and honors, handshakes. Behind closed doors, she struggled against loneliness, this hole in her heart that seemed to get bigger each day. Where Oberyn’s warmth should be was only a cold emptiness, like his body six feet under.

She was ranked number one for half a decade. Thirty was two years away. Not that long a time. But what were the career options of a soon-to-be-former sharpshooter with a languages degree? Brienne supposed she could teach but that meant going back to school. College was good for giving her a sense of belonging but she knew now that she belonged nowhere. Maybe that’s what she would do for a while. Travel. Get lost. The answer will come when she least expected it.

On her last month with the team, Brienne was approached by Jorah Mormont. She stared at the elderly man with white-blond hair and bright blue eyes. His face was heavily lined but he carried himself well. He had a way of staring as if he could see right through the person and know their vulnerabilities.

Brienne shot him a wary glance as she holstered her gun. She had the shooting range to herself so there was no gunfire to make conversation difficult. Still, she looked at Jorah Mormont with distaste. He stared back at her as she removed her protective ear muffs and goggles.

“You have a very impressive record, Miss Tarth,” he told her once her muffs were off. “Only twenty-eight and ranked number one for five straight years.”

“Yeah, that’s about to change.” Brienne answered.

“How so?”

“I’m retiring. I’ve done nothing but shoot at targets for ten years, sir. It might be nice to not think about hitting anything for a while, if you know what I mean.”

Jorah Mormont smiled. Brienne tilted her head. “This amuses you?”

“I’m afraid I’m here to make an offer that you would probably refuse, given what you just said,” he said. “But I’ll ask, anyway. Just to make the trip worthwhile although I don’t get the result I was hoping for.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I have no need of you, Miss Tarth. But your country does. How would you like to serve Westeros?”

 

*******

Three years. Three years since the day Jorah Mormont asked her to serve her country and she said yes. Brienne could have said her medals were proof of her service to her country but being Queensguard. Now that was something different. She was being asked to serve and protect the people through an institution she believed in.

So much for that. Instead she was stuck in a hospital, blind for who knows how long, awaiting a battery of therapies, debriefing and PTSD. On top of that, she had hurt the one person in her life who cared for her. The only person that truly mattered.

Jaime was. . .unexpected in more ways than she could imagine. At least she and Oberyn had similar interests, or at least, they were both in sports so they really were going to run into each other at some point. Jaime Lannister was a prince. The heir to the throne of Westeros who refused on the belief that his younger brother was the better leader to serve the country. All his life, Jaime belonged somewhere, to a family. He had always known what his life was going to be.

Back when Brienne was a mere observer to the events orchestrated by Jaime that would eventually shape the current political climate of Westeros, she thought he was insane to give up the throne. It wasn’t just the riches and power he was turning back on but a life he had been groomed to since birth. Whoever makes the choice to become adrift? The problem with people who lived their whole lives in a box was they romanticized the idea of being lost. But Brienne supposed that as someone who was often traveling, she too had a romanticized the notion of belonging.

Oberyn was her light in darkness. Jaime gave her the map and expected her to get herself out of the maze. Where Oberyn accommodated her, Jaime challenged her.

Brienne had an idea of Oberyn’s feelings when he suddenly showed up in Tarth. Jaime, she had accused many times of just having fun with her, for the prospect of fucking an ugly member of the Queensguard that he would laugh about with his friends. Jaime had not liked that at all. They were arguing when he suddenly yelled that he loved her.

“I fucking love you and I’m the fucking asshole who’s so crazy about you even when you’re insulting me in the worst possible way,” he had raged. “I love you, Brienne Tarth. I love you. I love you. Is that clear? I’m not with you because of some frat boy prank. I’m with you because I love being with you and I love you. There? Did you get that through that thick skull of yours? Why the fuck are you laughing?”

So she kissed him. It was not their first time to kiss. But it was the first time in so long that Brienne felt that she was close to something like home again.

And it scared her.

On the third day, Jaime returned. Brienne, who was a light sleeper, opened her eyes and was once again frustrated at seeing only spots of light and hazy shapes. She squinted until it hurt at the figure of Jaime by the door.

She sat up in bed and she heard him move forward only to stop. Puzzled, she asked, “J-Jaime? It’s you, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice, often clear with a mocking tilt, was strangely soft. “It’s me.”

“I missed you.” She said, her voice catching.

Jaime didn’t answer.

She bowed her head. “I did a terrible thing.”

“Really.” Jaime drawled. He still sounded pissed. She didn’t blame him. “Care to enlighten me?”

She felt her blush overwhelm her entire head then down to her chest. She raised her head, once again squinting. Gold hair. Flecks of green. _What if this is all of him that I’ll see for the rest of my life?_

At least it was still something compared to Jaime never been in her life again. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Temporary, the doctors kept reassuring her. The fact that she was making out shapes and knew when it was light or dark in the room meant she would see again. Only time will tell.

“I should never have questioned you, Jaime.”

“What exactly?”

Jaime was not a man to easily forgive. He had been hurt. Badly. Still was. She heard it in his voice. She felt it in her heart. Gods, it was awful, knowing she was the one to have hurt him.

“That you love me. That no matter what happens you’ll never leave my side.” Brienne looked at her lap again. “I’m a fucking fool and I wish I can say it’s because I’ve been shot in the head but. . .there’s no excuse. I’m not explaining myself, Jaime. I don’t deserve to. But I know I’m wrong and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She looked at him now, biting her lip. “It won’t happen again.”

Jaime didn’t speak for a while but she could hear him breathing. Could still see some of him.

“Good. I guess. . .that’s all that you can do for now.”

Brienne brushed her fist across her eyes. No way to stop the tears now.“I can’t. . .not now. I so want to tell you.”

“What is it?”

She stared at him then. A splash of light, the haze of a shape. What she would give to look in his eyes again, those beautiful emeralds saw all of her and not once thought she was lacking. Eyes that truly saw her and loved her.

“I want to see you. I want to look in your eyes when I tell you I love you."


	5. Five

Two months later

Dr. Wolkan was not kidding when he alerted Brienne that adjusting to her current condition was going to be more difficult than she could anticipate.

With her blindness (“temporary,”’ Jaime kept reminding her) was a Pandora’s box of struggles. Sidelined from work, Brienne realized just how many hours of her day was eaten up by her job. Her therapy sessions lasted between an hour to two hours at most. Due to another operation she had to lessen the swelling in her brain, it was important that she was not stressed out. That was the rule she was forced to live by: never be stressed out.

Being Queensguard, because it required life and the service was in a way for life, was clearly a stressor. Between shielding Queen Sansa and keeping her eyes peeled for possible threats, and limiting her trust to a small select circle, it was hardly a life. Once her shift with the Queen was over it was off to meetings updating latest security protocols and analyzing suspicious behavior, areas of danger. She went to the firing range three times a week and kept her body in tip-top condition by hitting the treadmill and lifting weights for an hour. Mind and body always had to be sharp and on red alert.

All in all, she was wired and tensed for more than eight hours a day, and longer when it involved overseas travel. Then of course, the upkeep of paying bills on time, keeping herself fed with nutritious food, buying such food, keeping a roof over her head. She really was just home to sleep and eat. Sometimes she crashed at the Queensguard headquarters in the Red Keep when she had to be on call, usually when there were visiting dignitaries in King’s Landing.

Since getting discharged and put on leave from her job, Brienne was forced to confront that after her therapy sessions there was still much to do in the day. The problem was these activities required eyes—reading, cleaning, cooking, running, driving. She refused to pick up braille versions of books and thought movies were wasted because she could only hear them.

Jaime had a tough time convincing her to hire a nurse and an even harder time in hiring one for her because she absolutely refused help unless she needed it. He did understand her resistance—her condition had forced him to make certain declarations regarding their relationship. Declarations that led to arrangements that kept her safe, guarded and watched at all times. The shooting put Brienne’s name in the public domain and her refusal to grant interviews, save for an official statement from the Red Keep Press Secretary, made her paparazzi fodder. He tried convincing her to move, albeit temporarily, to the Red Keep. Just until she recovered her sight. To keep her safe.

He had better chances of putting an actual, fire-breathing dragon within the Red Keep than this obstinate woman.

Brienne was struggling but she needed things to be as normal as possible. This meant continuing to live in her house. Being able to putter around her house. Doing what little she could while limited so. Security made her tensed but she understood Jaime’s reasons. If their places were reversed, she herself would put the entire army of Westeros on duty to ensure his safety.

Her therapy included walking on the treadmill, squeezing objects, bending—stuff she couldn’t believe people were actually paid for to teach her how to re-do. It was tough accepting that for everyone’s peace of mind, she was to go through these sessions just to make sure no stone was unturned. The last surgery reduced her headaches significantly and some days she picked out the finer details—such as the outline of Jaime’s eyebrow—but she was warned that she might not recover one hundred percent of her vision.

She also had weekly shrink sessions, as she called them. This, she wasn’t very resistant at all. It was important to talk about what happened. Cooperating would communicate to the top brass that she was serious and determined to return to the Queensguard.

Security was waiting for her outside of the psychiatrist’s office. The waiting area was always emptied when she had an appointment, which was really embarrassing. “Miss Tarth,” the guard greeted her as she heard him rise from the sofa. She detected a form in a black suit and what looked like hair that was either dark red or brown with a hint of red.

She nodded in acknowledgement and let him open the door. Another guard was waiting for her. She counted four flanking her front and back. It was overkill, really. But she was doing this for Jaime.

When things had calmed down after the shooting, she asked Jaime how Tyrion knew about them. She knew at some point they would have to tell people but she felt betrayed because this was one of her requests with Jaime, for privacy. Jaime confessed that his visits to her house had been noted because he was sneaking away from his guards. It was either he came clean to Tyrion or lied.

She just wished Jaime didn’t sound too happy about it.

The security detail on her was for her protection, Jaime insisted, and so that he had some peace when not with her. But they both knew what it also entailed: a message to the world that Jaime Lannister had made his choice. One-night stands and mere girlfriends don’t get security. But when it was someone who had a likely chance of joining the Lannister family at some point, then security really was needed. Brienne didn’t know how to ask Jaime about it, scared as she still was of the answer.

As she was helped inside the car, her nose was quick to pick up the lemony, fresh scent of Jaime’s cologne. Though she could only make out the blur of his blond hair and, to her surprise, the outline of his jaw and the stubble there, it was enough to give her pleasure. Pleasure was so hard to come by these days but she really missed being able to look in Jaime’s eyes. His smile. She missed that.

“Jaime?”She asked. “What are you doing here?”

“”Sit beside me.” She heard the swish of his hand coming toward her. Her own faltered to reach it, a smile of relief touching her face when he grasped it firmly. He helped her settle down beside him then gave the order for the driver to get a move on.

“You’re really here,” Brienne marveled. Her fingers fluttered to his jaw, loving the prickly rasp of the hairs on her soft skin.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” Jaime said, letting her touch him. “Did it work?”

“Of course. But shouldn’t you be. . .” she frowned. “You said Tyrion asked you to meet with the  ambassador of Lys. Today. This afternoon.”

“That he did.” Jaime answered. He took her hand and started kissing her fingers and knuckles. Brienne’s breathing hitched but she clung to her focus.

“I—I love that you’re here.” Her cheeks were pink as she felt Jaime looking at her expectantly. “But. . .Jaime that’s an important meeting.”

“I know. Did you think I blew it off to spend the day with you?” He admonished here playfully, still kissing her wrist.

She rolled her eyes. “You wrote the manual on playing hooky.”

“That I did. The meeting ended in an impasse.”

“What? Why?”

“The ambassador is playing hardball. Says if he’s going to allowed the presence of Westerosi troops then we’re going to have to allow him access to some weapons.” Jaime sighed. “Not my decision to make but I have enough power to tell him that this will not please the king. The president there is a dictator and I’d rather we not put more weapons in his hands that he’ll use against the populace.”

Brienne winced. “Violations of human rights are practically sanctioned by the state there. Why hasn’t Westeros denounced him or kick him in the balls?”

Jaime cradled her hand between his. “Because as long as it doesn’t endanger Westerosi interests, we turn a blind eye.” She felt him blush as he hastily added, “Baby, you know that I wasn’t—“

“I know,”she quickly reassured him. She turned away and in doing so, took her hand hand back.

Jaime sighed. “We shouldn’t argue about politics.”

“We’re not. It’s just. . . Tyrion intends to be leader of the people. He’s made it clear what kind of people. Shouldn’t that extend past the borders of Westeros?”

Jaime didn’t answer for a few seconds. When he did, he said, “It’s not as simple as that.”

She lowered her head and looked at her lap. Her hands rested there. “You’re right, we shouldn’t argue about politics. I mean, you’re clearly better at it than I am. What do I know?”

“Hey, that’s not what this is about.”

“No, really. It’s just. . .” she took a deep breath. “I know we’re. . .we’re together but maybe. . .”

“What?”

“I don’t think we should discuss sensitive matters of the state until. . .”

She sensed him frowning. “But we’ve always talked about that.”

“Yeah but. . .” Her voice faltered again.

“Brienne?”

She reddened. “Forget about it.”

 

*****  


It was annoying how she was realizing a lot of things due to her situation. Not having much of a life outside of work could be depressing if she didn’t love what she did. Besides there was Jaime but of late, aside from the truth of the depth of their commitment dawning on her more on more each day, she was also learning just how alone she was. Save for the shrink, who did she have to talk to?

Confused was an understatement. A word that combined overwhelmed, confusion, frustration, anger, denial, resentment, disappointment, panic, anxiety—that was the word she needed.

It didn’t take hypersensitivity to know that there were whispers about her and her relationship with Jaime. Tyrion may have known about them for a while but it clearly floored the rest of the security detail regarding orders for her protection. Sure, she and Jaime were committed to each other but she was not his wife, not his fiancée. She was a girlfriend. A consort.

Not to mention she had yet to say she loved him.

Brienne’s hand was now back in Jaime’s—at some point he drew it back or maybe she was the one to reach for him. She rather liked the idea of reaching for him. Being alone for most of her life meant she was used to dealing with everything on her own. It was not weakness to need someone but a strength. Because dear gods, she could not imagine being without Jaime, whether in her current condition or not.

That was it, wasn’t it? She couldn’t imagine life anymore _without_ Jaime.

Though they were holding hands, once in a while Jaime would caress her knee, play with a stray lock of her hair. With her height, she couldn’t exactly lean against him although he could definitely do it with her. It was distracting but she didn’t exactly mind.

Being blind, Brienne trained herself to memorize the times for turns and even bumps leading back to her house. She would ask the driver where they were to confirm if she was right. Jaime, lazily stroking her palm with his fingertips, glanced at her when she suddenly sat up, frowning.

“Anything wrong, baby?”

“We’re past Silk Point,” she said. “Right?”

“Now how do you know that?” Jaime sounded curious but also smiling.

She blushed. “I’ve memorized it.”

“Come here.” He suddenly pulled her by the arm, gently. Brienne let out a breath as she was pressed flush against his chest and his hand climbing to her cheek. “You don’t let anything stop you, do you?” He sounded fond and quietly proud.

Brienne’s fingers fluttered to the firm seam of his lips. His tongue was warm as it circled her thumb languidly. “Jaime,” she whispered, dizzy with how much she wanted him.

“Tarly,” Jaime’s voice was strained as he addressed the driver. “Go around the block for a while, will you?”

Brienne was biting her lip, trying so hard to control the red blooming in her cheeks. She sensed a movement to her right—Jaime’s arm rising briefly to press a button. Her blood pounded in her ears as she heard the soft, mechanical swoosh of the partition window going up.

And then Jaime’s lips were on hers.

She almost cried. They have not been intimate since the night before the shooting. There were kisses between them, but too quick and obligatory. She had been too bitter and angry with what happened, haunted by a mistake—what fucking mistake, Jaime had told her many, many times, that was not her fault, never her fault. The first month was hell for both of them. Brienne cried herself to sleep and Jaime, knowing at last that no amount of words, yelling and kissing would make her realize how wrong she was until she saw it for herself. It was the easiest thing to walk away. She waited for him to do it. He tortured her each day by proving her wrong.

 One of Brienne’s fears was that Jaime no longer wanted her, that it was human decency more than his feelings for her behind the round-the-clock care and protection. In her sessions with the therapist, it had been noted several times that she was holding back. The fear—the unvoiced fear that it was too late, that in being afraid to let herself be vulnerable she had pushed Jaime away. Being an unreasonable shrew was another reason in a growing list as to why he should leave her.

Yet every kiss, every touch, no matter how soft. When he would whisper to her at night that he was with her until the end of the line when he thought she was asleep, when in the same breath he reiterated about giving her the fight of her life if she tried to get rid of him—gave her hope.

Now Jaime was pulling her close and closer until she had to spread her legs over his thighs. She groaned, forgetting that they were not alone in the car. She grabbed Jaime by the hair and planted as deep a kiss as she could on his seeking, wonderfully warm mouth. Oh, gods. She had missed this. Him. She really missed him.

And from the way he was kissing her, at how hard he was even under his pants, he missed her as much.

She cupped his jaw and kissed him with desperation of one cursed with a great thirst. She bit his lower lip to stop herself from crying out when his hand snuck under her sweater and fondled her tits. And then his hand was lowering further down her body, hiking up her skirt to her waist. She whimpered in protest, remembering suddenly—the car, the driver—but it melted into a long moan when his fingers tugged at front of her panties aside.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered against her tongue. He sounded awed and relieved.

“I—“ No, now was not the time. She buried her too-hot face against his shoulder. “Fuck me.”

“Gladly.” His fingers plunged in. She wailed. 

She took his face in her hands again while Jaime unzipped and freed his cock. Just feeling it bob and brush against her thigh was enough to make her gasp and cling to him like a lifeline. Then Jaime’s fingers were on her pussy, stroking her spread folds through her panties before giving the worn cotton a firm pull. She felt him smile against her lips.

Blushing in outrage, she hissed, “Did you just rip my panties?”

“What else is a horny prince left to do?” He drawled before drawing her down to his mouth again. His fingers were back inside, cloaked in her warm dew. Another raw cry from her lips.He held his cock while his other hand guided her down to it. He grunted. She clung.

It was roomy in the limousine but they were both very tall. Brienne could only hold on, panting loudly against Jaime’s mouth as he surged up inside her. His grip on her hips was bruising and painful but she barely felt it with his cock fucking her and making her feel good, better and better with every thrust. Her speeding breath told Jaime she was close so he waited until the right moment to shove his tongue down her throat, muffling her cry as she shook violently. His kisses didn’t ease until her body softened, sinking against him limp as a newborn kitten.

Brienne continued to tremble, gasping softly as Jaime kissed her gently around the face. His lips lingered on her closed eyes, feather-light brushing kisses.

“If only my kisses will have you see again,” he whispered, for the first time revealing his helplessness. She raised her head a little, seeing a clearer outline of his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him.

She heard the swish of his hair as he shook his head, the ruffling sound of his neck against the collar of his shirt as he did. His arms were firm around her waist. “What is it this time, baby?”

“I haven’t made things easy.”

He swatted her gently on her butt. “You took a bullet to the head, Brienne. You nearly drowned in your blood. You fucking can’t see. Tell me how are you supposed to make things easy?”

She flushed and leaned on his forehead. “You know what I mean.”’

“No. You’ll have to tell me. Stop keeping it all inside. I’m here. Do you hear me? _I’m here._ I’m not going anywhere.” He touched her cheek and pleaded, “Let me in, Brienne. Let me in.”

Brienne closed her eyes as he kissed her gently, plying her lips open to spar with her tongue. She met the thrust of his tongue boldly, needing him so much.

“Jaime. . . “ she sighed.

_“Tell me.”_

Her breath was a heavy gust on his face. Jaime closed his eyes. “I love you, Brienne. Whatever’s still here,” tapped her lightly on the temple, “don’t be afraid.”

“That’s just it,” she was trembling again, as if cold.

“Brienne. . .” Jaime kissed her again, reassuring her, reasserting his commitment.

Telling her if she couldn’t be brave enough, he will be brave for them.

Brienne closed her eyes then opened them. She could see a hint of green. They were brighter up close. Emeralds. Faint glimmers of light in the darkness.

“Jaime, I’m so afraid.”

 

*****

The car slowed down. Brienne’s mental map was all screwy from the sudden change in her route but there was Jaime to hold her hand. His hold on her hand was firm while she listened to him mutter and paw the floor. Her panties. She listened to the ruffle of cotton against the silk lining of his jacket as he stuffed it in his pocket. When she stepped out of the car, the cool wind stung her too-red cheeks. It whooshed the bottom of her skirt, a sly tease to the moisture drying between her thighs. She ducked her head and didn't notice the grin Jaime aimed at her, his hand pointedly patting his jacket pocket.

To her relief, Jaime did not ask her to elaborate what she was afraid of. Too many and the list was growing every day. Her therapy sessions showed consistent improvement but they did little in allaying her worries and anxieties. Jaime seemed to understand just how much it took her to admit she was afraid because he just held her after her admission, just holding her until the tremors left her body.

“Where are we?” Brienne asked. She smelled leaves and wood bark, the faint tinge of gasoline from cars. She tapped her foot on the ground, determined it was smooth.

“I know it’s important for you to do as many of the usual things as possible,” Jaime told her, gently urging her into a walk. They were doing it slowly. The pace drove her mad but Jaime was holding her so this time she didn’t mind. “So I thought to help.”

“You’ve already done so much,” she protested.

She squeaked when he suddenly grabbed her roughly. He slammed his mouth onto hers and gave her a kiss that was too bold in public—no one at the Queensguard would take her seriously again. Her hand on his chest told him where they were. Then Jaime set her apart from him but not before speaking softly against her lips.

“With you, I can never do enough. Remember that.”

Then he grabbed her by the waist and they started walking again.

As Brienne tried to regain her balance and get her head around what he meant, he spoke up. “I didn’t hurt you earlier?”

“What do you mean?”

She heard him run a hand through his hair, his tell for being embarrassed. “It wasn’t my intention to maul you in the car. You’re the woman I love. My lady. I should be more. . .respectful. Discreet.”

Brienne felt another wave of her annoying blushes sweeping through her. “I missed you, Jaime.”

Since it was bright out, she easily saw him smile. Gods, his teeth were so white. She also saw spreads of green, pillars of gray, dapples of gold.They were in downtown King’s Landing. She could hear people murmuring about the prince in the midst. The phalanx of bodyguards around them widened their berth, giving them some privacy and also more space to move by discouraging anyone from approaching too closely. She felt a pang at being the one protected now.

“I love you,” he said. “Ah. We’re here.”

“What is this place?” There was a catch in her voice.

“Before we proceed, I want you to know that I’m doing this to help you gain more mobility and freedom.” Jaime said. “This is not permanent, Brienne. Although I would feel bad for the fellow if you return him. I’ve been telling him stories about you that I think he’s fallen in love.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t get mad, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Swear it.”

Brienne snorted. “Really? I swear it.”

“This is serious!”

Brienne kissed him. “I swear before the old gods and the new not to get mad with whatever it is you’ve done now. You have my word.”

A flash of white again. “Good. I’ll hold you to it.”

 

*****  
Brienne was not mad. She was not furious. She was just. . .

Well, she didn’t know how to feel, actually.

Jaime guided her up the steps to her house. Behind them, a security person shuffled behind, trying not to be dragged by the four-legged creature that came with a giant red bow and one hundred and sixty pounds of muscle.

Once inside was the usual routine. A quick but thorough check for open windows or doors, loose locks from top to bottom. Because Jaime had more or less moved in, there would be guards manning the perimeter of her house and three inside—two stationed downstairs and another in the upper floor, outside the bedroom. But while it was still daylight, they remained outside. The indoor sentinels only arrived at night.

“Have food and drink ready for the dog in the kitchen,” Jaime instructed the guard. “He stays here. In the morning, you will accompany Miss Tarth in walking him.”

“Of course. Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Brienne flopped down on the couch and waited until the door closed behind the guard. She listened to Jaime moving around, as well as the footfalls of the dog. Both man and beast started approaching her, her nose picking up Jaime’s cologne and the smell of dog.

The dog that sniffed her legs before lying down by her feet.

“You got me a dog,” Brienne told Jaime as she listened to him take a chair opposite from the couch.

“A guide dog.”

Brienne felt the creature gnawing at her boots. She sighed and leaned forward to rub him between the ears. The dog panted, filling the air with his breath. She wrinkled her nose.

“I’ve never had a pet before.”  She confessed, letting the dog lick her hand.

“Really? Never?”

“My dad was allergic. And. . .I was moving around. It just. . .I just didn’t have the inclination.” The dog’s mane was silky. She tried to make out his color. Russet? Brown?

“You don’t mind, do you? I mean. . .It’s to help you move around. I actually have another surprise for you but I thought to start with the dog first.”

“Two surprises in one day?” She had to smile.

“I can never do enough for you,” Jaime reminded her.

“Well. . .”Brienne turned to the dog who was now licking her knees. She laughed and patted his head gently. “ That tickles! He’s friendly. It helps me process this easier.”

“So you like the fellow? Clegane Hounds for Assistance offers guide dogs for those who have only a temporary need of them. They’re the best in the business.”

Brienne giggled as the dog resumed licking her palms. “He’s too friendly for a guide dog, don’t you think? Shouldn’t he be ferocious?”

“Isn’t that your department?” Jaime teased her.

“Well, as long as he does the job. What’s his name?”

“You think he needs a name?”

“Jaime, this might be temporary but I’ll need to call the guy something. It’s a guy, right?”

“Of course. You’re the only woman in my life.”

“Thank you. I think. ”Brienne would throw a pillow at him but her aim might be off. She refused to think about it any further.

Jaime chuckled. “Well, they say the best dogs have names. What should we call him? Look at him, so eager to impress you. You can tell he has a strict moral code, you know?”

Brienne, still trying to have a clearer picture of the russet-brown, massive, four-legged beast at her feet, frowned thoughtfully. “A dog who lives to fulfill his vows,” she mused. “I can’t think of no better name than . . .”

“Yes?” Jaime asked.

She grinned at the dog then at Jaime. “Oathkeeper.”

Oathkeeper barked in approval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I know Oathkeeper is a weird name for a dog. What do you think? 
> 
> I don't know how one gets a seeing eye dog. I assume there's a service. Whether it's temporary or not, again, I have no idea. Thank you for reading.


	6. Six

Jaime rose from behind the desk, straightening the front of his jacket as Dr. Wolkan entered the room. The old man hurried toward the prince, who was walking towards him but significantly with less urgency. Jaime held out his hand.

“Dr. Wolkan,” he said, shaking his hand. His grip tightened upon realizing that it was the same hand that been in Brienne’s head, seeking the bullet.

“Your Grace,” Dr. Wolkan greeted him politely.

“Thank you for coming.” Jaime bade him to take a seat. “I appreciate the time you’ve set aside for this meeting.”

“It’s a privilege, sir,” Dr. Wolkan replied, glancing uncertainly at Jaime who remained standing. But since Jaime was clearly waiting for him to do as requested, he sat down. He put his briefcase next to his feet.

Jaime walked around the table to return to his seat. Dr. Wolkan was trying his best not to gawk at the surroundings.

Refusing the kingship had not completely absolved Jaime of responsibilities towards Westeros. At Tyrion’s request, he could, and had, stepped in and represented the country as needed. He served as the crown’s financial adviser and served as the liaison between Tywin and the lords of Westeros.

His office was done in dark crimson with pale gold details. The furniture was heavy, dark antiques. Sansa was always teasing him to update the room but he thought there were better uses of money than getting a new couch and a modern desk. Although, he had to admit, the atmosphere of the room could be forbidding for one unused to it.

“I asked you to come here because I want to make inquiries,” Jaime began. “Being as I’m the one in need I should be sitting where you are now, and you where I am, in your office. But this is a private matter and I request your discretion.”

“At once, sir. Yes.” Dr. Wolkan said, nodding.

Jaime looked at him. He knew what he wanted and how to do it. Now he wasn’t so sure. While he wasn’t exactly sneaking behind Brienne’s back, she had no idea they were meeting. He was also using his privilege and position as prince to get information that should only be between her and Dr. Wolkan.

“I know Brienne has been religious with her therapy,” he said, realizing he will have to learn how to tread this subject as he went along. “She still struggles but I’ve noted improvements. But here’s the thing. She still can’t see. You told Brienne her condition is temporary but it’s been three months, Dr. Wolkan. I need you the truth from you.”

Brienne and Oathkeeper were getting along better than he expected. His lady and the hound were practically best friends. Brienne was not complaining but Jaime could easily read her. When she told him she was afraid, he waited for her to share with him the specifics. That turned out to be huge mistake. But he saw. He saw the frustration on her face when she had to rely on Oathkeeper  to guide her down the stairs or walk ahead of her. He saw how her face got animated when she conversed with her guards about security issues and weapons, the longing in her face that followed. He would try to get her to talk as they had in the car but there was a resignation in Brienne’s demeanor as of late. Like she was slowly accepting that she was never going to see again.

Jaime loved her. Blind, crippled, maimed horribly—there was no changing his heart. By the gods, she wasn’t the easiest woman to live with early on but that was one of the reasons he fell for her. People were dazzled by his title. The women, especially, never saw past that and his good looks. Brienne had wanted to kill him for walking in on her in the shower that first time in the Red Keep.

He loved her for her strength, her honesty, but most of all for seeing him clearly yet still accepting him. Remove the title and he still had his good looks, his money, his mind. But Jaime was just cruising through life. Tywin’s death was a wake-up call. And with it, the call to be the kind of man he could be, not the man Tywin had shaped him to be. He still had a long road ahead figuring that out but being with Brienne, loving her, made the journey a lot less treacherous than it should be.

She was afraid, she told him. Of what, she had yet to say. But Jaime knew. Too well. He looked at Dr. Wolkan, knowing the risk he was about to take.

“You said she will never recover one hundred percent of her vision. It’s been months and all she sees are spots and hazy shapes. Will she see again?”

Dr. Wolkan straightened up. “Your Grace, if I may clarify. There is a possibility that Miss Tarth will not recover one hundred percent of her vision. There is also a possibility that she will. I looked at her progress reports before coming here.” He reached in his briefcase and pulled out a folder. “Miss Tarth’s file.”

“Dr. Wolkan, we both know you’re being forced to commit a violation here. I appreciate your intention but perhaps it’s best that never touches my hands,” Jaime told him.

“Very well.” He put them back in the briefcase. “Miss Tarth is, as you say, religious with her therapy sessions. I remember you both questioned the need for it and on the whole, she doesn’t. Physically, except for her vision, she’s healthy and fit. But her sessions with her psychiatrist. . .there is something going on there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Tarth has no problem talking about what happened. She talks about getting back to work. Nothing else.”

“She cooperates, then.”

Dr. Wolkan looked troubled. “You requested information from me. I have provided you the best I could but I believe that it’s Miss Tarth who holds the information you really need.” His gaze was sympathetic.

Jaime tried to hide his puzzlement. “You’ve lost me, Dr. Wolkan.”

“Miss Tarth’s psychiatrist is Dr. Missandei Grey. She specializes in patients suffering from new physical limits resulting from incidents due to the high-risk nature of their professions. She’s the best in her field, sir. She also genuinely cares for all of them. That is why I trust her.”

“What does she say about Brienne?” Jaime was glad for the desk that hid his the tensed curling of his fingers.

“She has reason to believe that Miss Tarth is holding something back. It’s the way she talks about getting back in the Queensguard, sir. Every patient must have something to look forward to when they’ve recovered. I stand by that belief. But Miss Tarth. . .this is the only outcome she believes in. She is doing well. Physically. But something is holding her back. Something that unfortunately, has shown me the limits of what I know—of what science, at this point, has learned.”

 

****** 

“There she is.”

Brienne turned her head, immediately identifying where Bronn was standing. Oathkeeper barked as she heard her friend approach. “It’s alright, boy,” she told the dog, feeling the warmth of Bronn’s presence coming closer until his arms were around her. She smiled and hugged him back.

“You look good,” Bronn told her as they pulled away. Brienne saw the shape of his grin and maybe even the warmth in his eyes. He patted her on the shoulder. “You’ve been missed, Tarth.”

“That’s nice to know.” She said. “Believe it or not, I do miss seeing your old face.”

“Shut up.” But Bronn was laughing. He tucked his hand under her arm. She thought she saw him nod at her feet. “That’s a fine dog.”

“My eyes,” she explained as they walked.

“You really look well, Brienne,” Bronn said. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“You think Mormont feels the same?” She asked.

It was her first time back at the Queensguard Headquarters in the Red Keep. She requested a meeting with Jorah, who was quick to move his schedule around for her. Brienne didn’t tell Jaime about it. It was pointless to keep it a secret because her security reported to him. But if she had told Jaime, he would no doubt hover. Brienne needed answers and this was something she had to do on her own. She just hoped Jaime wouldn’t be too upset when she told him.

She needed answers. That has never been clearer until in recent weeks.

She kept it all inside for so long—the fear that she would no longer matter. Being alone for most of her life, she didn’t realize this _need_ to matter. Oberyn was the first to teach her, and probably the only one in her life back then who showed that she was important. Not to him, not to anyone—she herself was important. _She mattered_.

Oberyn’s death did not take that away but being aware of her place in the world—that she had a place—made her vulnerable. It made her want and desire things. Made her see that in many ways she had yet to discover, she couldn’t go through life alone. This kept her from developing any relationships. With the national team, she kept her contact with them at a necessary minimum. To open her heart was to accept both love and pain. She couldn’t risk that.

So she channeled her needs towards medals. World’s number one sharpshooter for five straight years. When Jorah Mormont recruited her to the Queensguard, she poured everything into it. She lived towards a purpose—to serve Westeros by protecting the young Queen Sansa.

Jorah Mormont did recruit her but it did not guarantee a job—just a spot that put her under consideration, the rest entirely up to her. He meant well and Brienne respected him but it was soon known among the recruits who was responsible behind her presence. Everyone else had come either from the army or law enforcement. She used guns for sport, shot targets that did not haunt the conscience. Never had to gamble with her life. There was much bitterness and resentment towards her as a result. She was also a woman—ugly, mannish, and stronger, faster and better than any three of them together. The insults hurled at her only dented the armor she had built through the years, along with various kinds of sexual harassments and verbal abuse. Her focus on the goal never faltered. She would hate to disappoint Jorah Mormont, she would hate to walk away from the life she was going to have and wanted to have.

In the end she outlasted them all and finished on top. On the day of the graduation ceremony, she fought to keep the hopeful expression on her face as Jorah Mormont pinned the Queensguard sigil on her collar. Their eyes met, her gaze imploring, needing.

His face reflected quiet pride.

 

 

****  
Queensguard was an elite force. The best of the best. Her fellow recruits ridiculed her for being a woman and having no experience. At the Red Keep, the veteran guards viewed her more as an oddity, and with curiosity. It was unusual for someone with no military or background in law enforcement to be recruited but Jorah Mormont, she found out, seemed to have a knack for finding talent in unexpected places.

Bronn provided muscle for a Volantene mob. His background should have raised red flags and Jorah, as rumor had it, all but went to war to recruit the man. He got on Jorah’s radar after turning state witness against the mob.

Podrick Payne came from a family of swindlers. They made the mistake of branching out into dealing with firearms and choosing the Volantene mob Bronn was serving with to fuck over. Those choices led to the annihilation of the Paynes. Podrick was the only survivor of the massacre and also became a witness.

There were protests and grumblings in the early days of Jorah’s leadership. But Bronn proved himself and became the head of the security detail for Tyrion Lannister. Brienne and Pod did not disappoint either. But Jorah never recruited anyone after them.

Brienne knew she was sitting on the chair facing Jorah’s desk. Her vision was getting clearer and clearer. Some days she could almost see all of Jaime, could make out the lines along the jowls of Oathkeeper. If not for her doctors emphasizing repeatedly that she avoid stress, she would have started tearing off her hair from frustration. The almosts, the nearlys—each day she was given a taste and she wanted more, knew there was more but cruelly kept out of her reach.

She needed certainties. Anchors. Every time her eyes saw another detail that had eluded her since the shooting, she felt hope. Just as it was likely she would never recover one hundred percent of her sight, so was the possibility of regaining one hundred percent of it. Goals helped her focus. Goals healed.

She could almost feel it, hear it: her voice tripping over words as she finally saw Jaime, all of Jaime, and telling him she loved him. Protecting the queen once again. Knowing she was needed and she would fulfill that need. This was how she wanted to matter.

Brienne heard Jorah’s hand moving before it landed gently on her shoulder. “Agent Tarth,” he said softly from above her. She listened as he walked, frowning when she saw him take the seat across from her rather than going behind his desk. He was a blur of pale hair, pale blue eyes, a blotch of black.

“Sir,” she said, sitting up.

“Bronn’s right. You do look well.”

“I’ve been doing as I was told.”

She thought she saw him smile. “Really.”

She smiled back. “Well, not always.”

“I see you have a dog.” She thought she saw him glance at Oathkeeper at her feet. “The guards have been talking about Prince Jaime’s gift.”

Brienne, taken aback, stammered. “Sir, please—“

“I’m not going to lecture you about your personal life, Agent Tarth.” Jorah’s voice was gentle. “You have always done your job well. Hells, it has always been perfect. And I have it on good authority that the prince was. . .determined.”

“I tried. . .not to.”

“But why?”

Briennne stuck her chin out and stared at him. She stared at the small, blurry blue orbs that were his eyes. “I’m Queensguard.”

Jorah did not answer.

“I am Queensguard,” she repeated. “Am I not?”

His silence continued.

Brienne was grim. “It’s that, isn’t? The fact that I might never see as I used to?”

“You’re still recovering, Brienne.”

Her heart broke. This was the first time he had called her by name since recruiting her.

“Recovering. What a cold, proper word that just means I'll be gone. I’m never coming back, am I?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I need to know.” Her voice was wet and thick. “Sir, I need to know if I still have a place here. I’ve been getting better. My vision is improving. I can’t. . .please. You and I know that I’m the best for the job. There’s no one else.”

“I still believe that.”

“But?”

“Brienne. . .”

“I need to know. You’ve done more for me than you can imagine, sir. If this is the last time I’ll be here, then allow me this.” Brienne was breathing sharply, shakily. “Let me know.”

 

 

*****

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“I only want to protect you.”

“No. You’re keeping me prisoner.”

“Sansa—“

Tyrion sighed as Sansa kissed him.

Since the shooting, Sansa had not left the Red Keep. Statements from the Red Keep Press secretary assured the public that their queen was fine and recovering. For about a month that worked and Sansa obeyed. A month.

Then she started making her displeasure at her confinement known.

Tyrion reluctantly pulled away from her kiss and shook his head at her. Dark blue eyes glared at him and Sansa, huffing, rose from her kneeling position and went to look out the window. He watched as she crossed her arms. Anger radiated from her.

She understood why Tyrion kept her confined. He was scared. He still was. What about her? She still had dreams of approaching that crowd at Flea Bottom. Never was she going to forget that day—wanting to make Tyrion proud, being proud of her husband. Wanting the world to know she supported her husband. She remembered brushing off Brienne’s warning. Danger will always be there, she had reasoned to herself, but the people needed assurance that under Tyrion’s leadership, not only would things be different. They were going to get better because for the first time in the history of Westeros, a king wanted to work with the people, for the people.

She remembered being lured by the crowds. Being so proud and loving Tyrion so much at that moment. Theirs was not the easiest of marriages in the beginning, as arranged partnerships always went. In order to secure the north, their father made an alliance. She knew for a fact Tyrion had been very resistant at marrying someone so young. Her husband was definitely not the man of her dreams.

He turned out to be the man she loved at every waking hour, and loving him more each day.

Tyrion was intelligent, kind. He also respected her, seeking her advice and listening. A thousand golden knights on their glorious steeds could parade in front of her, each more handsome than the next, but none of them would ever come close to how Tyrion appreciated her. He didn’t see her as just another beautiful face.

What happened was terrible. The man had been apprehended but before he could give answers he shot himself in the throat. But she refused to be robbed of any more freedom with the knowledge that the real perpetrators were still out there.

“We were warned it could happen,” Sansa told Tyrion as she looked out into the gardens of the Keep. A gardener was trimming the topiary trees. “It’s a risk that comes with our responsibility. Keeping me here is doing more harm than good to the people.”

“What about me?” Tyrion demanded.

Sansa turned to look at him. Tyrion was now standing by the table.

“I could have lost you that day.”

“I know. I could have lost you too. But we’re here. Tyrion, you can’t keep me here forever. You must rule with courage.”

“And how do you propose I do that? By putting your life at risk again?”

“By showing that it would take more than damned bullets to break me!” Sansa exclaimed, startling Tyrion. She sighed and went for calm in her next sentence. “Whoever hired that Dontos Hollard or whatever his name is, they’re still out there. I’m afraid. Tyrion, I’m afraid. What if next time they get me—“

“Precisely why—“

“But I can’t.” Sansa declared. She stood against the light, her auburn hair glowing like fire. “I refuse. We can’t let ourselves be enslaved by unseen enemies. They don’t even deserve to be enemies. Enemies are in a way on equal ground. They hide in shadows. They’re cowards. You’ll let _us lions_ be chased by faceless cowards?”

Tyrion stared back at her wordlessly. Sansa stood her ground but wondered if she had crossed the line.

He kept his eyes on her before slowly turning back to the table. He poured water into his glass and took a sip.

_No. He married me. He knows me._

“I had serious doubts when Tywin told me of the arrangement he made with your father. Well, more like vehement protests.” Tyrion began, taking another sip. He put the glass on the table and looked at her.

“You were fourteen when I first laid eyes on you. You were everything perfect for someone who wasn’t me. I wondered what Ned Stark had done to sacrifice you to a monster like me. Tywin has always been a challenge but I truly hated him for that first time that day. I did everything I could to get out of it. Everything. Tywin won’t let me. That’s the only thing he got right about our marriage. Forcing us into it.”

“Forced. Really.”

Tyrion had to smile. “It started that way. You didn’t love me.”

“Like you loved me?” Sansa pointed out.

She watched him go to her. His head just about cleared her waist. But there was no one she looked up to as she did her husband. He took her hand and held it between his. She was staring at their joined hands as he spoke.

“I swore before the Seven and your father to protect you, Sansa.”

“I swore the same thing.”

They looked at each other.

“This isn’t protection and you know it. You’re coddling me. You want the people to love you? I have to be out there. Showing them that I’m alive and well. That I’m a lion.” As Tyrion tried to speak again, she beat him to it. “You know I’m right.”

Tyrion looked torn.

“If it helps I won’t go without Brienne. I trust her the most. At least you should have allowed me to see her. She saved my life. How is she?”

 

******  
Brienne squinted at the Queensguard sigil in her palm. It was too small and the soft silver color seemed to melt against her skin. The only way she knew it was in her hand was from the feel of it—steel slowly absorbing the warmth of her skin, the flower hilt of the sword. She blinked and swiped a fist across her eyes—her fucking, stupid, _useless_ eyes.

At the watery intake of her breath, she felt Oathkeeper, then lying at her feet, nudge her leg with his nose.

She had been sitting on the bed for more than an hour.

She was finished.

No more Queensguard.

It was odd to say that being Queensguard was where she felt her best—there were no medals just handshakes—but it was the honor. The honor of protecting Westeros through the queen was an honor she nurtured and protected. It was what mattered to Brienne. Honor.

No more.

She collapsed on the bed, curled her legs to her chest and hugged them. The guards were downstairs so she could cry, really cry. The tears poured out of her in torrents that could rival water surging from a shattered dam.

Being Queensguard was nothing more than glorified bodyguard, yes. But she was good at it and was proud to be in charge of Queen Sansa’s security. Daunting did not begin to describe just what the job entailed but she welcomed every aspect of it. She made it a point to memorize the Queen’s routine, made sure she was protected at all times.

Brienne was only three years older than her. She started as one of the anonymous guards in the Red Keep. It was during the final days of Tywin Lannister. There were rumors already that the Lannister brothers were making plans to put Tyrion on the throne rather than Jaime. Brienne made it a point to stay out of politics—for her it was a treacherous subject and no one won any argument. The job was her focus. Nothing more.

Being a guard, her assigned post or quadrant got shuffled regularly. She usually manned the gates or was one of the many other guards doing regular rounds inside.

Brienne and Sansa first met under unusual circumstances. Tyrion’s coronation at the sept meant triple security presence. Foreign dignitaries, high-borns and noblemen were all gathered at the Red Keep afterwards. As it went with huge gatherings, things were tensed in the office. Brienne, however, looked forward to the challenge.

She was doing her duty at her post at the Hall of Lions, where paintings of Lannisters rulers from the past adorned the walls. They were all handsome men, with golden hair and emerald eyes. In the dark the paintings could be creepy but not Brienne.

Her shift was almost over. She returned to her post after her last round. Except for a few lights just to for guidance in the hall, the rest of the area was dark. But Brienne saw the outline of the queen as she stared at the painting of Tywin Lannister.

Sansa heard and turned. Brienne blushed. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

“None taken.” Sansa told her then turned to look back at Tywin. Brienne had seen the king just once. Even from afar he was terrifying. It his eyes. Cold. Calculating.

Sansa was looking at his painting, tilting her head now and then. Her auburn hair was swept up in a sleek roll and she was wearing a white dress that floated around her like clouds. Even in the dark, she was stunning with her blue eyes, delicate features, and her tall, willowy body.

“My father-in-law treated my husband like dirt under his boots.”

Brienne was taken aback. She heard rumors. But they were just that. “Your Grace?”

Sansa gave her a small smile. “He hated my husband. He hated a lot of people. Including my father. He refused to let Tywin build a pipeline that would destroy the sacred weirwoods. He never forgave my father for that. Threatened to remove him from the Council of Lords and replace him with that bastard Roose Bolton.”

Another man with all those rumors. A minor lord, of little importance, but with the darkest of reputations, if rumors were to be believed. Brienne’s skin prickled.

“In exchange for keeping trees safe, for my father to remain in the Council, to keep the north for future Starks, Tywin forced him to give me up. I’m just a girl, after all. I’ve been paying for other men’s actions my whole life simply because of the way I was born.”

Brienne didn’t know what to say to that.

“My husband is really the best person in the throne.” Sansa continued. “He has Tywin’s mind but not his ruthlessness. He actually respects people.” She looked at Brienne. “I apologize for speaking so boldly. I did not get your name?”

“Brienne Tarth, Your Grace.”

Sansa suddenly put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for listening.”

The next day, Jorah got a handwritten request from the Queen. She wanted Brienne in her security detail.

It was the beginning. She mattered again.

And she opened her heart.

 

******  
Jaime was informed that Brienne was already home, from the Red Keep. He had to keep the surprise from his face about the latter detail. He kept his expression cool and blank as he entered the building.

Brienne was not in the living room nor the kitchen. This meant she must be in the bedroom or the bath. Oathkeeper was with her too—the dog never strayed far from her side. He slept on the floor of their bedroom.

Jaime took the stairs. Going home to Brienne was something he really looked forward to. In spite of the difficulties they were having now, he couldn’t imagine another woman waiting for him at home.

For the first time he dreaded seeing Brienne. He could guess why she was in the Red Keep. It wasn’t wise to use his power to summon Dr. Wolkan but he didn’t have a choice. Brienne needed answers. Now he had them. They were just not the kind of answers she wanted.

It would be a blow more devastating than her head wound injury once she knew. Jaime hated to drag this out. If he didn’t tell her now she would hate him. If he did she would still hate him. Jaime would rather live with her hate than without her.

He hoped she felt the same. She had yet to tell him she loved him but he was past the need for words. Her fear of being a burden, of never getting back in the Queenguard, her blindness—they were manifestations of what she really feared. Each of these fears were also valid on their own but they also addressed something larger, one the Brienne won’t speak to him about. She feared that by being a burden she would lose him.

The door to their bedroom was ajar. The lights were on. Oathkeeper was sleeping on the floor by the foot of the bed.

Suddenly, Brienne crossed in front of him. She was wearing a towel and her skin was pink and dotted with water. Jaime will not apologize for his body’s response at the sweet, enticing vision she made. He looked at her with pained longing, wondering if this was the last time he will get to see her as such. Would she hate him for what he was about to tell her?

So, bastard that he was, he watched her.

She slipped the towel off her body. She did not have the curves expected in a woman, her strong, muscled body aroused him. Very much. She was not working out as intensely as she used to but her thighs and legs were still lean and toned. She turned, reaching for clothes she left neatly folded on a bench. Her nipples were hard, plump buttons and her the hairs of her cunt had the sheen of pale gold. Droplets of water decorated her creamy thighs.

His eyes trailed back up to her face but they lingered there, on the round, white scar just a little off the center of her chest.

Brienne didn’t know that at night, when she slept, he would touch the raised, jagged scar from when her head was sliced open to pull the bullet out. Dr. Wolkan said that a gunshot wound was yes, often fatal, the bullet had managed to avoid parts of her brain that would spell her death. Jaime would caress or kiss the scar, thankful that she was alive.

The scar he was looking at now told him how, just a few millimeters more, Brienne wouldn’t be standing six feet away from, innocently getting dressed. He wouldn’t be in this moment. He  would be a broken man.

He never got a look the scar until now. After their interlude in the limo, they had not been intimate again. He missed her but he was not some jackass who would demand she spread her legs to relieve his cock. The scar—it was like a taunting eye. Paler than the rest of her, uneven and puckered.

_Millimeters from her heart._

Brienne raised her arms as she put on a t-shirt, her breasts rising slightly too. She pulled the shirt down, covering her entire upper body. But Jaime was never going to forget.

He almost lost her this time.

The second time would take her away. Forever.

He understood. More than Brienne would realize. The importance of duty. How one mattered from how he approached his duty. Being Queensguard was Brienne Tarth. Seemingly limiting her but  opening doors, drawing new pathways. But until when?

_You’re more than you could understand but I know how important the Queensguard is. I know._

Brienne put on plaid pajamas and sat at the foot of the bed. Oathkeeper pressed his nose against her foot. She squinted, trying to see.

As strong as Brienne was, she had a vulnerability that reminded Jaime of a dove with a broken wing. This time, he was seeing her broken. Defeated. It was in the way her neck was curved down, the slump in her shoulders.

Oathkeeper suddenly stood up. Brienne jumped but the dog only rested his jaw on her knees. She stroked his ears, his head, her pale fingers moving through his rich, golden fur.

Then a sob fell from her lips.

No more.

Jaime pushed the door open and Brienne jerked, head whirling towards him, unseeing eyes wide. Oathkeeper, whose lips pulled back in warning, recognized Jaime but remained at Brienne’s side.

She rubbed the sleeve of her shirt across her eyes. “Jaime, you’re here, I didn’t—“

He dropped on his knees before her and pulled her in his arms.

Brienne sobbed again.

“Let it out.” He told her. “Cry. Let it out. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He tightened his arms around her. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

“Jaime, I know.” She whispered, clinging to him. _“I know.”_

A fresh bout of sobs shook her. He could only hold her.

“Don’t leave me, please,” she begged him.

“No. I won’t.”

“You’re everything that’s good in my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post an update right after Episode 3. But Episode 3 happened.
> 
> You might be surprised that Tyrion and Sansa suddenly get a major scene here. My purpose was to help establish that they do care for each other and for another person besides Brienne to want her back in the Queensguard. Not that Jorah doesn't want her back. I think he tries to make it clear to her but Brienne is haunted about never being able to see again because it has bee months. 
> 
> The scene between Jorah and Brienne is to show their relationship. It's always professional but there is some fondness too. I'm not going to explore that anymore because that's not necessary to the story that has to be told. But I wanted this person that Brienne trusted to be the one to break the news to her. But if you remember, he keeps telling her that there might be a miracle, yada-yada. Brienne is just too stubborn to realize that.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment! 
> 
> Again, do not expect this story to be medically or scientifically accurate. It's fiction. It's alright to play.


	7. Chapter 7

 

The sun was too bright. Brienne grimaced, turning away. Jaime grunted as she shifted closer to his side, his arm rising to pull her to his chest. Breath coming from her lips stirred the sleeve of his t-shirt. Her arm curved, resting comfortably on his stomach, her hand right on top of his beating heart. His fingers threaded between hers, covering her hand with his.

She moved closer, a soft smile on her lips at the rasp of his stubble on the tip of her nose. Jaime purred as she nuzzled her nose against his cheek.

The day was going to be warmer than usual but neither moved away from each other.  Being in Jaime’s arms was a safe place.

As his heart continued a steady drum under her palm, she thought about last night. She was a puddle of tears and heaving sobs, hiccupping and gasping as she told Jaime what Jorah told her. He confessed to asking Dr. Wolkan about her blindness. The need to see him had never been so urgent until that moment but all she was given was faint shapes, the suggestions of angles, bursts of color. If this was all of Jaime she was going to see for the rest of her life, she would accept it. “I can’t lose you,” she kept telling him. “Please don’t let me go.”

She had no memory of falling asleep. She must have passed out from sheer exhaustion.

But she had known from the start. The truth was always in the back of her mind, just waiting to be summoned. Three months and still blind. Perhaps this was the fate of her eyes. It need not be with her heart. There was a truth there too, one that only she had acknowledged and protected for fear of losing it.

_Jaime._

“I love you.”

She opened her eyes. Light poured right into them, drawing tears. She groaned, burying her face between Jaime’s neck and shoulder. He rubbed her back gently.

His hand suddenly stilled.

Brienne’s eyes opened.

For the second time, light seared her eyeballs. She gasped, swiftly turning away, a hand shielding her eyes. Jaime yelped as she crushed his hand. Her apology was a grunt as she sat up swiftly, rubbing her eyes. “Seven bloody hells, it’s too fucking bright!”

“Don’t scrub off your eyeballs, baby. Hold on.” Jaime said with a sigh. As she rubbed her eyes, she heard him leave the bed and start drawing the drapes closed. As she felt light retract from the room, she stopped rubbing her eyes. The sleep had been rubbed from them too. She looked at Jaime and noted the frown on his face before it switched ton an inscrutable expression.

Her heart was beating fast. And very, very loudly.

Brienne blinked at him rapidly, disbelieving as she noted his tousled hair. It was longer. His eyes were a little bloodshot and the lines scrawled next to his eyes seemed more pronounced. His stubble was actually a beard, a shade darker than his hair and giving him a ragged but sharper appearance. As it dawned on her that she was truly seeing Jaime, he gave her a hard look.

“You said something.” He said. He sounded annoyed. “Just now.”

“Jaime, I—“she started to say but too overwhelmed. Colors of every hue and shade were coming at her all at once. Her heart beat even faster. She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them again, just to make sure. The first thing she saw was Jaime.

He looked pissed.

Her heart, racing in panic, began to slow down. She clutched at the blanket gathered at her waist.

“What. Did. You. Say.” He was speaking through gritted teeth.

Brienne stared at him dumbly for a moment then the events of the last five minutes hit her like a tidal wave. Her cheeks turned pink and her heart rate picked up again. But it was no longer beating as fast. With every beat, she saw Jaime more clearly: the different shades of gold on his hair, the tension in his shoulders, his nostrils slightly flaring with every deep breath brought into his lungs.

“I love you, Jaime.” She said. Her voice was soft but the slight rise of his eyebrows told he heard.

She loosened her hold on the blanket. “I love you,” she repeated. “I love you and. . .I can see.” The last sentence ended in a stilted tone.

“What do you mean?” He demanded.

Brienne bit her lip and felt herself about to cry, this time with real tears. “Everything. I can see everything. _You._ I can see you.”

Last night saw a torrent of tears. This time they slid slowly from the corners of her eyes, thin wet threads. But the shimmer in her blue eyes promised a river. As Jaime continued to look at her with confusion, she got up from the bed and went to him.

She saw Jaime stare disbelievingly at the certainty in her steps, at the way her eyes never left him, even until she was standing in front of him, trembling and weeping. The expression on his face only softened when her fingers fluttered to his cheek.

Then he was grabbing her, spearing fingers through the tangle of her hair. His face neared, plunging her in a world of emeralds just before he claimed her lips.

She kissed him back. Every swipe and brush of her lips an apology for what she put them though and also a firming declaration of her love. Her hands fell on his shoulders, feeling the jut of bone and bunch of muscle under his shirt. His chest was an unyielding wall against her breasts. His heart a gentle knock on hers, urging hers to open. She clutched on him, one of her legs hitching to wrap around his thigh.

“Jaime, I love you,” she whispered, slightly pulling back and her eyes opening. She couldn’t stop looking at him. He held her by the nape as their foreheads rested on each other’s. “I love you so much.

“You can see?” He asked, brushing her hair back to bare her face. He scanned her eyes, noting how her gaze softened under his scrutiny.

“Yes. I love you.”

His smile was beautiful. She touched his lips with her fingers. “I missed this. Jaime,” she said, yearning in her eyes. Now that she had said the words, it was difficult to stop. “I love you.”

“I’ve always known,” he told her. “I. . .I don’t need the words, Brienne. But I hoped you would believe in me. Trust me.”

She nodded, once again resting her forehead against his. Jaime continued to speak gently.

“You never have to be afraid with me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Brienne was about to speak when someone knocked on the door. They sighed and reluctantly pulled away from each other. But Jaime kissed her on the cheek on his way to getting his robe draped over a chair. Brienne sat down on a bench and beckoned Oathkeeper to come to her. Her eyes brightened seeing what he looked like for the first time. He had a round face and a muscular body. His coat was rich, chocolate brown. “Come here, boy,” she said, holding out her hand. Oathkeeper got up from the floor and went to her, licking her hand before resting his chin on her knees. Jaime grinned at them and opened the door.

“Good morning, Your Grace. You requested to be woken at seven-thirty today.”

“Indeed and I thank you. But I would like to cancel all my appointments today.”

Brienne stilled and looked at Jaime. Unfortunately, the door blocked her.

“Including the ambassador from Naath?”

“Yes. Send him my apologies. But an emergency has come up.”

“At once, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Jaime closed the door and met Brienne’s curious stare. “What emergency?”

“You don’t expect me to walk away when you’ve just told me you love me, do you?”

Brienne blushed. Oathkeeper raised his chin from her knees and turned to look at Jaime too.

“There are a lot of things I have to tell you,” she admitted.

“Like how much you love me?” Jaime said, joining her on the bench.

He took her hand and just held it. Brienne stared at their joined hands as if seeing them for the first time. “I was really scared of losing you,” she said, turning to him. “I can’t. . .I can’t hold on to the good in my life.”

“Queensguard,” he told her. “But you have your sight back.”

She could return, yes. There was a tingle at the back of her throat, the promise of sweetness, the pride of serving her country once again. It was where she belonged.

Jaime was still talking. “I know how important the Queensguard is to you. You know how I feel about what happened but I don’t want to stand in your way, Brienne.”

Being Queensguard was everything to her. It was home. It was where she felt most useful. She _was_ Queensguard.

The Queensguard helped her become the person she was. As she looked at Jaime, who kept touching her cheek, brushing her hair, looking at her, she wondered if he would have loved her if she were someone else. Still Brienne Tarth, the champion sharpshooter for five years. But not the Brienne Tarth who surrendered her life in the service of Westeros. Who put herself between an assassin’s bullets and the Queen without question.

“You can’t seem to stop looking at me,” he told her. Amusement flickered in his eyes at her blush.

His hand climbed to her nape again. Pulling her close, his lips neared and she closed her eyes. Warm lips roamed across and between her closed eyes. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw scraped the soft skin of her face but his kisses made her forget. She crushed his shirt in her fists her heart rate once again sped up and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “Jaime,” she whispered, a gasp trailing after his name as he deepened the kiss on her one of her eyelids. Jaime set her away from him and she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. His eyes were dark, not the brilliance of gemstones she was used to. It made her feel warm.

“I love you,” she whispered again, this time pulling him to her by his shirt.

He caught her lower lip between his teeth. Her entire body swelled at the gentle rake of his teeth. As his tongue soothed her lip, he whispered, “You like looking at me?”

She nodded.

He glanced at Oathkeeper. “I think we should send the dog out.”

Jaime whistled for him and Oathkeeper stood up. He led the dog to the door, calling for one of the guards to take him out and walk him. Brienne was still sitting on the bench when Jaime returned to her. He held out his hand and she took it. He pulled her to her feet.

They stared at each other, communicating with burning gazes their desire. She had never doubted his love but questioned his commitment. No more. She loved Jaime. She had always known but refused to acknowledge it. It was a truth that she still found strange despite the certainty of her feelings and the courage that finally pushed her to tell him. It was strange yes, but also something that had always been there.

Still looking at her, Jaime reached for the bottom of her shirt. Brienne caught her breath then raised her arms. On her fever-warm skin, the cotton tingled and teased, raspy little kisses and brushes. She didn’t cover herself as she stood bare to the waist, if not for her blush. Jaime’s eyes dropped momentarily to her nipples, pink and tightening as they pointed towards him.

“You’re not going to stop looking at me.” It was a statement, not a question.

Brienne could only nod.

“Good. Because you’re going to keep those astonishing sapphires on me. You will watch how I love you.” As Jaime spoke, he loosened the drawstring ties of her pants. “Your Prince commands you, is that clear?”

Her pants dropped to her ankles. Brienne, now a deeper shade of red, murmured, “Yes.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear, Your Grace.”

He smirked then led her to the bed. As Brienne sat down, she stared at his clothes. He met her look and began to undress.

Every inch Jaime Lannister was beautiful. His golden hair. His clear, emerald eyes. The deep dimples that followed his smile. White, even teeth. Sharp jaw. His body was a work of art, defined and corded in the right places, promising endurance and strength. His cock stood hard pointing towards her.

He joined her in bed, taking her in his arms, taking her mouth. Flicking his tongue across her lips. As she kissed him back, he told her, “Say it again.”

She caressed his cheek. “I love you, Jaime.” It was getting easier to say.

“And what did you swear?”

“I’ll—I’ll watch you love me.” Brienne said hurriedly, embarrassed.

He smiled before kissing her again. Then he moved down her body.

She expected him to kiss her breasts but Jaime surprised her with a kiss on the puckered bullet scar between them, just below her throat. She tensed, her fingers clenching at the supple skin of his shoulders. Her lips opened to tell him to stop, it was too much. She remembered the bullet penetrating her flesh, shattering bone. Gasping for air. Then the next in her head, a hot poker intent on rendering her brain into cinders. Her breath hitched, her throat tightened. The words were there, just needing to be said but she was choking—

Something wet fell on her chest and trickled down to her breasts. Followed by a shuddering breath, a rough strangled sound of someone in pain.

Brienne pushed through the blackness engulfing her by tightening her hold on Jaime. Her fingers found his hair and with a gentle tug, urged him to raise his head. Green eyes rimmed with red stared back at her.

“Jaime?” She sat up, still holding him. Cradling his face in her hands, she asked, “What is it?”

“I thought I lost you,” he confessed. “When I heard what happened. I woke up that morning and you were gone. And then I was told what happened.”

_Oh, gods._

Then he crushed her in his arms, his hold threatening to crack her ribs. Brienne held him just as tightly, for the first time realizing the hell Jaime had gone through since that day. Here she was thinking about how difficult she made life difficult for everyone, railing against being blind, of losing everything she held dear. Not once did she spare a thought to Jaime who felt as helpless and more.

No, she couldn’t return to the Queensguard. They had survived it but she couldn’t let Jaime go through this hell again. She might live the next time. She might not. Death did not terrify her but she would never forgive herself to being responsible to his pain.

She turned toward him and Jaime gripped her chin, stealing a kiss from her lips. “I love you,” she said as he pressed her back on the bed. His eyes were still bloodshot but his kisses were firm and full of want. He plumbed her lips apart, savoring them as if they were a sweet, luscious treat he couldn’t get enough of. She returned to fervor of his kisses, uncaring for her swollen mouth and her tongue beginning to tire from repeated thrusts and parries at his. She was going to live. She was going to be with Jaime, loving him.

Her eyes never left him as he took deep drags of her nipples, never easing even when she cried out and raked her nails down his back. More kisses were pressed on her scar, as if he wanted to erase it with his lips. Lower down her body he went, teeth nipping at her ribs, the soft swell of her stomach before a tongue flicked at her belly button.

There were still gaps between the drapes, allowing slivers of light through. They fell on Jaime’s hair, his shoulders, his back. His hair gleamed like gold in various shades, and his skin, now coated in sweat, shone like bronze. His eyes glanced back at her, checking if she was doing as vowed. Satisfied, he moved lower until his shoulders were cradled between her thighs.

His fingers found her wet and eager. Her cunt felt plump and hollow, the yearning an acute ache. Thumb and forefinger nudged her labia open, revealing the thick, sticky threads of her honey. Brienne’s eyes widened at the first, tasting swipe of his tongue. Then his tongue was lapping her up, thrusting and flicking at her clit, at her moistening folds of her slit with the speed of a butterfly’s wings. “Jaime, please!” She cried out just before white light exploded before her. She gasped, hips rising before falling hard back on the mattress.

It was a never-ending crash. Jaime was merciless, fucking her furiously with both tongue and fingers. Her legs thrashed and kicked, trying to dislodge him because it was too much. She felt full and close to bursting. Her please and shrieks fell on deaf ears. Every time she cried out his kisses got more aggressive, his fingers fucked her harder.

She lost count the number of times she came. Her throat was raw. Her legs were limp and just spread open, having long surrendered to Jaime. She was only roused from the half-awake, half-dreaming state when Jaime began to pump his cock in her soaked cunt. A hand on her chin, a rough order that she look at him. She struggled to keep awake, losing herself in his smoldering emerald eyes. Her cunt, softened and dripping, still managed to give a fight to the determined thrusts of his cock. Jaime had to pull her leg over his shoulder to open her up and fuck her deeper. She could only sigh at how right he felt inside her.

And when he lay in her arms later, there were only three words to speak.

_I love you._

******  
One day was all they could have. Jaime had never been more reluctant to leave Brienne’s side until today. Running the country may not be entirely in his hands but he still had responsibilities.

He could, however, steal some more moments where they could pretend to be normal and just like every other couple. He had the guards leave their posts from inside the house, delivering it in a soft but firm way that this was an order to be followed, no questions asked. He watched the last of them leave, closing the door behind him.

Brienne was at her desk, staring at her laptop screen. She sat with her back facing the window. Her fingers flew quick across the keyboard. Though she was typing quickly, there was no panic on her face. She looked calm. It was a picture of his lady love he hadn’t seen before.

He looked his fill. Her pale hair grazed her chin before the shooting. Her hair was cut to a close crop to her skull. It wasn’t a very flattering hairstyle but it emphasized her eyes, making them look bigger. She looked up from what she was doing and gave Jaime a soft smile.

Her vision was back. Jaime could not ask for anything more. Her blue eyes looking at him, seeing him, were gifts he would never take for granted again. She also loves me, he thought, remembering her heated yet earnest proclamation filling his ears yesterday. He smiled back.

“It’s too early in the morning to be working, baby,” he drawled, going to her.

Brienne blushed and it pleased him to know the reason behind it. He hadn’t called her baby in months. She claimed to dislike it but he only had to point out how her face softened when he called her that.

“It’s important.” She answered as he sat on the edge of the desk next to her laptop. She sought his hand and kissed the knuckles. As Jaime basked in the warmth of her little kiss, she continued, “It’s my resignation letter.”

Jaime stilled and she flushed, looking at their hands before raising her eyes to his face.

“I’m sorry. I know I should have discussed this with you first. . .”

“You know that I’m not. . .I understand how important it is to you, Brienne.”

“I know. But this,” she raised his hand in hers for emphasis, “is more important.”

She stood up and went to him. Jaime put his hands on her waist, watching her forehead wrinkling as she searched for the right words to say. It was a wonderful thing to see the expressions flitting on her face, her eyes going from the shade of sapphires to deep navy, cornflower, the ocean.

“All I could think about since the shooting was getting my eyes back so I could be Queensguard again. I hated being so. . .”

Her voice trailed off, indicating this was not something she wished to talk about but was determined, anyway. Jaime’s hand touched her cheek and she held it there, looking at him.

“I never expected the kindness and understanding you’ve given me, Jaime. It’s. . .I know we love each other but I’ve never had what I have with you. Queensguard will always be a part of my life. But all that’s good in my life is because of you. You. . .you love me.”

He felt her entire body warm at the last sentence. Squeezing her waist, he chided, “Took you long enough to believe it.”

“I’ve been a fool.”

“Obstinate is more like it.”

Brienne blushed. “I can’t. . .I know you will support me if I go back to the Queensguard. I love you all the more for it. But I don’t want to lose you, Jaime.”

“You’re not.” He couldn’t keep the annoyance from his voice. Brienne kissed him consolingly. He wondered when he could start teasing her for being more affectionate now. He was enjoying it way too much. 

“The last thing I thought before I lost consciousness that day was how sorry I am for not telling you I love you,” she confessed. “And also for causing you pain. I refuse to risk my life again, Jaime. I don’t care about getting hurt. But you—I can’t live with myself if the same thing happens again. Or worse.”

She was telling the truth. It was a job requirement that she lay her life before the Queen.

“I don’t want to be without you. I want to live with you. Love you.”

His dear girl. He admired Brienne for her bravery and dedication. He was hoping that she would not return to the Queensguard but not out of fear. He wanted it to be her choice. And if Queensguard was her choice, he was ready to support her. Queensguard was her life and he would never ask her to be anything else.

“There’s a lot you’ll be giving up, Brienne.” He had to tell her.

She nodded. “Yes. I know. But. . .” her voice trailed off.

Good. She knew what she was getting into. But she surprised him with what she said next. Her gaze was calm and something like contentment settled on her face.

“I get you. And you're everything.”


	8. Eight

 

A year had passed since the assassination attempt in Flea Bottom on the King and Queen. Yet so much had happened that when one looked back, there was always a mix of awe and shock at how only little time actually passed.

Thinking back was enough to make Brienne’s head spin but she couldn’t help it. That moment in Flea Bottom was a pivotal point for everyone in Westeros. It showed the Lannisters, ferocious lions for generations, were vulnerable. The government and its intuitions, the economy, life, came to a standstill waiting for news about Queen Sansa’s condition. All entry points to Westeros was monitored and restricted in the months to follow, per the decree Tyrion signed that enabled all law enforcement and security agencies exercise all the power within them to root out those responsible for assassination attempt. The Council of Lords denounced it as tyrannical. Tyrion and his advisers countered that while the perpetrators were unidentified and free, the entire Westeros and all it stood for was compromised. He was blunt in announcing that his wife was the first in what could only be a long-term plan of unleashing chaos.

Brienne had little awareness of these. Despite being right in the capital, she had cut herself off from news and information, focusing on getting her sight back. Bits of news still found their way to her but she didn’t have a full awareness of what was happening until Jaime broke everything down to her several days after recovering her vision.

She didn’t have doubts about leaving the Queensguard. Once she made a decision she stuck to it. But the determining factor was her refusal to put Jaime through another kind of hell caused by her job. Loving him taught her she was not alone. Her life was no longer just hers. Her choices would affect someone—Jaime.

Loving him was still a gamble. A most ridiculous statement because he was a winner in all counts but very few people realized that the fairy tale life was just that—a tale, a sweet, hopeful story told to children. Jaime gave her hope. Jaime made her want to live. Jaime had opened her heart again. She accepted these challenges but knew that being with him was a different ball game altogether—nothing that her training in the Queensguard, her shooting skills, her life, could prepare her for given its magnitude. Despite knowing that Jaime could be just as regular as the next guy, there was no denying that he was a prince. She who came from the other side of a life would be the one to cross over to his.

Jaime, to his credit, never once asked her to change. Brienne will take a long time to realize she was no longer a shield. Wherever they went came with the increased risk of danger. Habit would have her checking possible exits when they were in an enclosed space, her eyes darting and alert on every window from a building, every car within the vicinity, her mind taking mental photos of faces around them. She still insisted on going through security plans.

As if that wasn’t enough, paparazzi and gossip rags tried to get every information about the strange, unlikely woman that snagged the storybook prince of Westeros.

The very public, very critical scrutiny was straight out of a nightmare. People who tormented her as  child and an adult came forward with the most ridiculous stories, all of them false, of course. Doran Martell called Brienne to alert her that his family was being besieged with inquiries about her relationship with his dead brother. He swore never to share anything but he couldn’t stop friends and other relatives who might talk to the press for the promise of gold and fame. Brienne assured him of her trust. And true to his word, Doran, through a lawyer, issued a statement published in several newspapers that the harassment he and his family were being subjected to on account of a relationship Brienne had with Oberyn was not only intrusive but inhuman. “Miss Tarth will always be part of the Martell family. We protect our own. We hope this is the last statement we will issue in connection to attempts by several media outfits to make news out of something private between two individuals and the family involved.”

The next statement was from the Red Keep Press Secretary, admonishing the media for their attempts to intrude on her privacy. It was more searing than the one Doran had issued, declaring its refusal to tolerate any more attempts to violate Brienne’s right to privacy and but also communicating, though not explicitly, that she was a person of high importance to the Lannisters to have this issued on her behalf.

Brienne never spoke of Oberyn until their past was dug up. A part of her would still love him but that love was more of sentimentality now than what it used to be. He had been her first so his memory would always be there. While Jaime never pressed her, she felt compelled to tell him, just to try to make him understand why she had been so afraid to love him. It was also a way for her to make sense of it. Fear, more than love for Oberyn, kept her from believing in Jaime’s love. She had to lose her sight to see it.

Since letting him into her heart, their relationship had become deeper, stronger, more trusting. Jaime thought to point out that before, she just slept next to him. Now she sought him in his sleep, dreamed in his arms.

Being with Jaime was no dream but amazing in so many unexpected ways. She just wished the curiosity and clamor for anything about them wasn’t part of it. They agreed to be discreet but any point to it became moot when she moved in with Jaime at White Sword Hall, the prince’s personal residence just outside of the city.

The only time in history that a ruling Lannister dared to install a mistress in a royal residence was Tytos, Jaime and Tyrion’s grandfather. It had not sat well with Tywin and as soon as Tytos died, he cast out the mistress and threatened her with a lawsuit if she set foot back in Westeros. Jaime ignored the summons from the Council of Lords, refusing to defend his relationship with a woman who was certainly not a mistress nor anything sordid. Tyrion had to step in on his behalf, knowing his brother was not in the needed state for a civil though tedious discussion. When Jaime finally managed to remove himself from Brienne’s arms, he told the Council that maybe they should try having a hard ride between their wives’ legs to expel “unnecessary tension that should be channeled towards more pleasant actions.”

Brienne had been resistant to the idea of living with him so openly because she didn’t want to break any more rules than they already have. But Jaime had dazzled her with talk of security and needing her like air and she couldn’t even form the word no. He would cut off her weak protests with kisses before dragging her to one of the Hall’s many rooms to bend her over a desk or fuck her against a wall. He didn’t hesitate taking her out in the open, either. It wasn’t like she put up a great resistance.

Though it was clear that no Council and or newspaper article condemning their domestic partnership would deter them, Tyrion still had to press Jaime and Brienne about a wedding date.

They were already breaking so many rules, what with Jaime choosing a commoner—a former Queensguard—and living openly with her. Though news about their co-habitation were slowly edged out of the dailies for actual news that mattered, there were still parties who were displeased with the arrangement. And some of them, usually ladies who went to the fanciest schools who looked and spoke with icy, precise perfection, told Brienne  right to her face. Mingling with these vipers was one of the dreadful responsibilities she couldn’t avoid, more so now that she was a princess-to-be. She complained that going to those stupid lunches was like going into battle ill-prepared—per security protocol, she wasn’t allowed to have any arms or weapons on her person.

Brienne watched Jaime sleeping. His blond hair brushed his shoulders when awake. Asleep, the hair piled around his head and on his face, obscuring his eyes and his nose. With a light hand she wasn’t usually known for, she brushed them away. Her fingers were slow and patient, revealing the high angle of his cheekbone first, the elegant arch of his brow, then the slender ridge of his nose. Light winked from the princess-cut sapphire ring on her finger.

Her fingers trailed the dip of his gold-hued neck, the upward curve of his bare shoulder, his arm, before fluttering on the curls of his chest.

“Stop watching me sleep,” Jaime muttered, his eyes still closed. She pulled her hand back.

She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

Since getting her sight back, looking at Jaime had become a new, addicting pleasure. Yes, he was a beautiful man so it was without question that he would always draw the eye. Brienne liked looking at him because she was reminded of what she came close to losing—and gaining everything, in the end. She would always see love as a fragile thing that could wound ever so deeply yet it was also the source of immense strength and the very reason for choosing to live. Brienne was sure of her feelings for Jaime yet the depths of her love and the intricacies of it were simply unfathomable. She just knew they were there and she would protect them.

“I mean it.” Jaime complained. “I command you to stop.”

Her loud guffaw filled the room.

Jaime opened one eye, pretended to frown at her, then opened the other. Brienne’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to stop herself. Motorboat-like sounds emitted from her. Her face was vivid red from her failing efforts.

“Stubborn woman,” Jaime grunted. But his green eyes flashed before throwing himself on top of her.

Brienne eagerly met his conquering mouth. Her legs were quick to spread in welcome of his beautiful, nude body. As their tongues thrust and clashed, he tore at the loose neckline of her sleeping shift, baring her breasts. She gripped his shoulders, his ass, bending her legs to open herself up some more. He pushed the bottom of her shift high on her thighs until his cock was pressing against her pussy.

“Do you know the punishment for disobeying the prince?” Jaime’s growl was softened by the lazy, teasing kisses he was pressing on her cheeks, the corners of her lips, the tip of her nose. He fondled her breasts none too gently, drawing a moan from her.

“Is it any different from last night?” Brienne countered breathlessly, nipping at his lower lip. “Or yesterday morning?  The night before last?”

“You seem to enjoy them being as you are a persistent repeat offender, baby.” He murmured, his legs urging her to open some more. Brienne gasped as his cock rested between the folds of her pussy. He was warm and hard like a pillar.

“It’s because the prince continues to believe he can make me obey.”

“Make you obey?” Jaime coaxed her mouth to open wider so he can lick her tongue. As she moaned and rubbed her body against him, he whispered, “I didn’t tell you to attack my cock last night. That was all you.”

She blushed and Jaime smiled smugly. “There you are, my love.”

It was an arrogant, infuriating smile but his gaze was tender, affectionate. Brienne felt her heart catch. “I love you, Jaime.”

Her hand on his nape urged him back down to her lips, already parting to receive his kiss. Jaime was impatient was he pulled at the torn shift from her body. It would be the third this month. Brienne’s face and neck were hot as it skidded in her mind the idea of a servant coming in to empty her hamper and finding another piece of torn clothing. Four blouses, two pairs of slacks, sleeping shifts and more panties and hosiery than she’d like to count had been sacrificed for her lion prince since moving in. Jaime had no compunction about fucking outside their chambers and it extended to ripping at her clothes getting in the way.

He palmed her breasts, grinning at her blush while squeezing them eagerly. Nipples were pulled hard between his teeth, the ferocity of his suckling leaving them tight and red. She couldn’t stop her eyes from falling close at the sharp bite of pleasure from such a kiss. Her breath was pitched hiccups at his carnal ministrations, golden head swiveling from side to side as he tugged at one nipple then the other in his mouth rapidly. She tried dragging his lips back to her mouth but Jaime clamped them determinedly around her nipple, sucking loudly. As he feasted on her breasts, his fingers swept her labia open and tucked two fingers inside her.

Her orgasm yanked a throaty grunt from her, dissolving into senseless hissing as Jaime continued to pull and suck on her nipples, fuck her with fingers. She rubbed her pussy against his palm, clenching around his fingers. She growled throatily as her orgasm hit, a slap of lightning that shocked her momentarily before tremors overtook her body. Flashes and streaks of gold and white filled her vision and she battled through the electrical storm until she could make out the strands of Jaime’s golden hair, the dark gleam in his emerald eyes, his lips a dark shade of pink from kissing her.

As she caught her breath, he lowered his lips to her nipples again. His fingers continued to spin inside her, intent on leading her to another beautiful release. She groaned, head turning side to side, her hips pumping against his fingers. Second later, she was crying out again, surging against Jaime, panting against his mouth.

She gripped him the shoulders. Heavily-hooded eyes stared at him pleadingly. “Your Grace, _please._ ”

He grinned. “Your Grace, hmm?”

_“Jaime.”_

He sat back on the knees. Brienne leaned back against the pillows, hoping he will let her recover longer this time. It was wishful thinking. Because soon Jaime was sliding a pillow under her hips, tilting her. Yes, she wanted to rest some more but she gave no resistance to his hands spreading her legs, his cock thrusting inside her _at last._

Jaime held himself up by his hands, the muscles in his arms bulging from the effort and the strain of the control he was exerting so as not to crush her. Brienne lovingly caressed his hair, thumbed at his parted lips before catching his face in her hands. She watched him take in her eyes, drop his gaze to her breasts jiggling as he thrust. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest as he stared at her stomach, stopping briefly to kiss her navel before continuing to fuck her.

This time he led her gently to her third release, drawing it out, his groans mingling with hers. She tried to control the sounds of her own pleasure and her own fingers fluttered to his lips but he sucked them instead of letting be quieted by them. Guards were stationed outside their door. She was still not used to the idea that hardly any of the things she and Jaime had, even the sounds of their fucking, were not private.

But she wouldn’t let her unease about it cloud the rest of the morning with Jaime. Once again they were lying down, facing each other and their hands entwined between them. He looked relaxed and younger like this. The pink covering her from forehead to neck was a very enticing shade atop her pale, freckled skin. She laced her fingers through his and pulled it to her lips, watching him sigh in pleasure over her sweet kisses.

She was still watching him when something suddenly fluttered sharply in her stomach. Jaime’s expression was curious as her eyes widened, first in shock then in disbelief. As he started to ask her what was happening, she pulled his hand down to her stomach. She grinned seeing the same confusion she had settle on Jaime’s face before it cleared and made way for his beautiful smile.

“There she is,” Jaime whispered, his hand firming on her stomach.

“It might be a he, Your Grace,” she said but not really minding their child’s gender.

It went on for a few minutes, tingles and flutters in her belly, gentle movements pressing gently on Jaime’s palm. They huffed in disappointment as they receded. But he kept his hand on her stomach.

“We have to start telling people, my love,” he said, caressing the bump. “Tyrion, especially.”

She bit her lip. “I know.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Pregnancy is usually happy news, Brienne.”

“I know, it’s just that. . . “ her voice trailed off and she looked at him helplessly. Jaime gave a slight nod.

“We’re always justifying every step we make in our relationship,” she said, failing to hide the frustration in her voice. “Every step forward and the cries for nay get louder. As if what we’ve been through isn’t enough.”

“We can marry today, two days from now, ten years and four children later,” Jaime told her. “Tyrion can’t force us to marry. We will marry when we want to.”

“We?”

“Yes.” Jaime said firmly. “We.”

Brienne sat up, drawing the blanket to her breasts.

“What is it?”

“Jaime, you can’t. . .it isn’t just us in the relationship this time.” She wracked her brain for the words to say and how to say them. Articulation had never been her strong point. “What if I don’t want to get married?”

“You mean for now?”

“I mean this,” she flashed him the ring. “What if this is all I want? You have a duty. Do you mean to tell me that you’ll stay with me? We will not only be bringing the wrath of the Council on ourselves but possibly the entire Westeros.”

“After everything that’s happened you still doubt me?” Jaime demanded, sitting up this time.

“No! I don’t. But. . .it’s having to marry because there’s a child that I rail against.”

“And I’m telling you that’s not going to happen.”

“What?”

“Brienne, you’ve only been taking on royal duties in recent months. It’s difficult and I can see you trying and you do so well. But I won’t ask you to take on any more for a while. Once you’re my wife, that’s what will happen. I refuse to put you in that position.”

“You mean you won’t marry me to protect me from more tedious and boring charity lunches?”

“Stupid lunches and press events and other responsibilities that are endless. You will not be serving the government like I do but it is expected that you give a hand. I won’t allow it. Not until you’re used to it.”

“And our baby?”

“You really think I’d just step aside and let you deal with a baby and a mountainload of responsibilities at the same time? At this stage?” Jaime asked her. “I was born knowing what’s expected of me. My whole life was prepared for this. You’ve only been doing it for a year. Close to a year.”

Brienne couldn’t help but love him more after hearing that. Jaime really was a prince. Her knight. Her protector. She flushed and tightened the blankets around her some more.

“But you know any delay is just avoiding the inevitable,” she told him.

“I don’t want you pressured. I don’t want you neck-deep in duties and possibly. . .I can never give you a normal life, Brienne.” He sounded regretful. “This is what we have,” he said, sweeping a hand to gesture at their luxurious room. “Wealth is a burden. Power even more. There’s very little freedom. It’s fucking ridiculous but it’s the truth.”

“But in our position we have the power to make the world the kind we want out daughter to live in,” Brienne pointed out. “And her daughters and their daughters.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know exactly,” she confessed. “But maybe we can shape the world in a way that emphasizes actions instead of sitting in councils or lunches, of looking where one must look instead of private lives. Of putting efforts in causes worthy of attention instead of something as unimportant as my shoe size or that I’ve bewitched you due to some spell. I love that you understand how overwhelming things are for me right now and I worry about disappointing you. But I won’t let that stop me from doing what’s expected of me. But I have to figure that out and doing what I want.” She touched her belly. “She deserves more than her parents getting married just because she’s coming.”

“I know. And you have every right to decide when to get married,” Jaime said., putting his hand on top of hers. “I have you and you love me. We’re about to have a child. What more can a prince ask for?”

She had to smile. “What else could a lady want?”

 

 

*******

Tyrion couldn’t berate Jaime for not waiting until he was married to Brienne before putting a child in her. And when Sansa enfolded Brienne in a gentle hug and ran a hand on her tummy, he knew he shouldn’t ruin his wife’s happiness—or anyone’s. But he did shake Jaime’s hand, unable to hug him because his firstborn son was asleep in his arms at the time.

The Red Keep issued an official statement regarding the pregnancy but made sure to skip over any details regarding future wedding plans. Sansa admired Jaime and Brienne’s refusal to conform to a rule simply because they must. As she pointed out to Tyrion, the best matches often came from breaking the rules. Their marriage was a good example. He was more monstrous-looking than actual king, and she beauty in the flesh. The circumstances of their arranged marriage could have destroyed them but they realized there was much more to see than what their eyes told them. And after nearly losing her to a bullet fired by a spurned and outrageously entitled Petyr Baelish, Tyrion realized just how far he and Sansa progressed in their love and how quickly it could have ended.

He also saw for himself how Jaime came close to destroyed over Brienne’s near-fatal wounds then her blindness. He had fought and will continue to fight to be with her. Jaime Lannister made his choice and Tyrion, though exasperated at his brother’s recklessness, would support him.

Some grumbling from the Council of Lords met the news while the media and the public clamored for more details. Soon it drowned out the mumblings for propriety and good behavior. Magazines and newspapers were once again splashed with photos of Jaime and Brienne, all websites that just mentioned the pregnancy saw a gigantic leap in their hits. The pregnancy was also discussed in business and finance TV shows, with analysts projecting that aside from the millions of golden dragons promised when Jaime and Brienne marry, the birth of another royal baby secured not just the Lannister line but also their hold on power—a power supported by nearly all of Westeros for the first time in history.

Brienne’s pregnancy silenced a lot of her critics although whispers persisted. She used her training in Queensguard in reading and anticipating danger towards the diplomacy and power games of the world she would be living in. She and Sansa made a formidable team because they both believed in action in addressing societal problems instead of tepid fund-raising that just threw money at challenges but didn’t alleviate them. Jaime, Tyrion and Jorah Mormont couldn’t stop them from visiting Flea Bottom. Jaime and Brienne had an argument about it because both were right and neither would cave. The agreement they eventually reached was Jaime would accompany Sansa and Brienne as well as a battalion of security. Jorah himself ensured that any danger or risk waiting for the Lannisters at Flea Bottom was eradicated.

At six months pregnant, Brienne was just. . .radiant. Her muscular body gave way to a sensual softness that made it really difficult for Jaime to keep his hands off her. The anxiety that plagued him during preparations for the Flea Bottom visit and the actual visit evolved such that as soon as it was over, he dragged Brienne back to their chambers in White Sword Hall.

Their meetings and appointments were cancelled for the next three days. The only communication staff received was requests for food and drink and of course, the moans and cries that emitted from behind the door at all hours.

At thirty-seven weeks, Jaime was pressed against Brienne’s back, scattering kisses on her nape and shoulders as he fondled her heavy breasts. They were sweaty and sated from fucking, her thighs still gleaming from the spill of his seed. Brienne turned her head to let him tug her full lower lip between his teeth when he felt her tense.

“Brienne? Baby?” His caresses stilled too as she breathed sharply.

Brienne’s eyes were huge. “It’s time.”

 

******  
After going through labor for close to sixteen hours, Kathryn Grace Lannister Tarth was born. She was already quite hefty for a newborn, weighing at nine pounds and seven ounces. The hair feathering her head were too few and too light to determine if it was the pale blond of her mother’s or the golden color of her father’s. Her eyes were clear, round sapphires.

She was three years old when Jaime and Brienne finally married. It was a combination of Tyrion pressing them more firmly this time. The empire waist style of Brienne’s dress concealed the four-month bump of her stomach. Thus, there was some confusion and speculation that the twins, Tymon and Liam were premature. In fact they were born a day after their expected birth. A Council Lord complained that Jaime and his bride were 'shameless heathens' for hiding her second pregnancy. It reached Tyrion, who warned him that he will be stripped of his titles and the little property he possessed if he continued with his insult. Word got to Jaime too. He had the lord removed from his position as a senior adviser in the shipping council, effectively cutting off his sole means to power. As a result, his title was close to worthless. Jaime's move sent shudders among the lords as it gave them a glimpse of what he would have been like as King. 

Jorah Mormont retired and Bronn became the head of the Kingsguard and Queensguard. He and Podrick became godfathers to the Lannister twins.

The reign of the Lannisters under Tyrion was said to be the most peaceful time in Westeros. Him, the Queen, Prince Jaime and Lady Brienne did their part in ensuring that the world they would be leaving their children was better than the one they had. Through their examples, their children took to heart the importance of duty and service to the people. Not all of them were cut out for leadership, however, with the rest just content to stay behind the scenes and work quietly.

Until the day that the role of leading Westeros was thrust on one of their children or the children’s cousins, Jaime and Brienne sought to give them a life as close to normal as possible. For security purposes, Kat, Ty and Liam went to private school. But weekends were always at White Sword Hall—picnics by the lake, riding on horseback across the expansive grounds and surrounding forest, board games late into the night where junk food was consumed with abandon. In times like this, Jaime and Brienne were just parents doing their best to give everything good that their children needed and could want.

Once the children were asleep and they were in the privacy of their chambers, Jaime and Brienne turned to each other, stripped of their clothes, wearing only skin and love in their eyes—eyes that now bore soft lines around the corners yet seeing each other clearly more than before.

Brienne caressed the creases surrounding Jaime’s eyes, the deepened grooves of his dimples. She kissed his lips, still firm and warm. Pulling away briefly, she stared in his eyes, eyes that had always been true to her.

She took him by the hand and led him to bed. He followed her, loving the softness her hard body had acquired, the sureness in her movements. She lay on her back, looking at him, unable to stop from looking at him. She opened her arms and legs and he went to her then, sinking in her embrace. She held him close. He was everything dear to her. In his ear she whispered the three words, the three words that once choked her with fear. He said them too, against her lips, before sealing it with a kiss, another in the thousands awaiting them for as long they lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have mixed feelings about this ending. As I was telling SeleneU the other night, I knew which things had to be there but I wasn't sure how the writing was going to be done. I discarded the original draft as it crossed over to a fluffiness that felt wrong for this story. Another difficulty, and hence the delay in posting the conclusion, is I've been plagued by awful migraines. I couldn't really sit in front of the computer and write. I apologize for that. 
> 
> SeleneU described my desired outcome, "Happy ending but not happily ever after." That's why I thought to highlight some of Brienne's difficulties in adjusting as a fiancee of a prince. I don't believe she and Jaime are the type to strictly follow rules--they are more likely to break them. Her coming close to death inspires her to be braver so we see a different kind of Brienne a year after the Flea Bottom assassination attempt on Sansa. 
> 
> This story was inspired partly by the lives of the Grimaldis of Monaco and the Windsors. The rest come from my imagination in a universe where Brienne is a Queensguard and Jaime is the prince madly in love with her.
> 
> SeleneU, thanks for listening and the constant support!
> 
> To the readers, thank you for liking this story. 
> 
> Comments and questions are welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment! They make me write faster!
> 
> Speaking of writing faster, there's a new update on Pieces of You. Chapter 8 is up!


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